Reflections in Sand
by astraplain
Summary: Ray learns something new about his past, his parents, and his relationship with Florian.
1. Chapter 1

"If that's an invitation to an opera, the answer is no." Ray dropped a stack of mail onto Florian's desk with a fine white envelope on top.

"You can't avoid the Countess forever, Ray," Florian teased mildly as he picked up the stack and thumbed through it quickly, finding the usual assortment of bills and invitations. "And no matter how much you protest, I know you enjoyed 'The White Lady'."

"It was a special presentation for charity," Ray reminded Florian, leaning down to bite lightly on Florian's ear; amused by the way Florian shivered. "I'm well known for my philanthropy."

"Saving all those aristocrats from the burden of their jewelry." Florian reached up and caught Ray's tie, pulling him down into a deep kiss. He shifted back against the seat letting out a contented sound when Ray settled onto his lap. "Why are you wearing a suit? Your robes are much easier to remove," Florian complained when they broke apart long enough to unfasten some clothing.

"I could go change," Ray offered, shifting back as if he were going to leave. Florian grabbed the now-open vest with both hands and pulled him back. "Later then," Ray laughed before letting his mouth be claimed.

"One thing," Florian gasped a few minutes later when it became clear they weren't going to make it upstairs to their bedroom. "Close the inkwell this time before you shove everything off the desk."

"So demanding," Ray teased, but he did as Florian asked.

XXXXX

"I'm going to start keeping a box in front of the desk to catch everything," Florian muttered to himself as he knelt to retrieve a stray piece of mail and an errant pen. Ray loved the drama of sweeping everything aside before bending Florian over the furniture, and admittedly, it was better than the alternative - there are places one does not want to have pen marks - but Ray never bothered to help clean up afterwards.

Sighing at the mess, Florian settled into his chair again and started putting everything in its place. When the desk was in order, he turned his attention to the mail, setting aside what was likely an invitation to the opera; he'd handle that last.

Bill paid and acceptances or regrets sent for dinners and parties, Florian picked up the final envelope. It was heavier than usual, and the envelope wasn't quite flat. He turned it over looking for any indication of who might have sent it and noted that the contents seemed to shift. A sense of unease slowed his movements, but he took up the letter opener and slit the top neatly.

Cautious but feeling a little ridiculous, he eased the stiff card partway from the envelope, letting out a soft cry as a scattering of sand spilled onto the blotter. A moment of blind terror caused him to freeze and it was only after he'd forced himself to take several calming breaths that he extracted the card and read it.

Against every bit of good manners his mother had taught him, Florian dropped the card and shouted for Ray.

XXXXX

Although Perrin Renard had a strategist's appreciation for chess, he only owned two sets. The ostentatious gold and ebony set that sat on a custom-made table in the parlor was an object of envy and admiration. On occasion Renard would even indulge a guest with a game.

The second set had its own room and only Renard and his closest servants were aware of its existence. The life-sized figures had been designed by Renard himself, and he'd overseen every step of their creation. In place of the traditional blank faces, each of these chess pieces had an empty frame. It gave the game a more personal touch.

Renard was in the chess room now, watching as his valet fit a new portrait into the white king's frame. His own portrait was already in place on the black queen. One last portrait remained, waiting to be placed onto the white queen. It had been a while since Renard had an adversary worthy of that placement.

"Yes, that's fine Williams," Renard gestured for the man to take a step back so he could admire the newly decorated white king and queen. He moved closer, snapping his fingers and holding out his hand to accept the glass of wine that had been waiting on a silver tray beside a newly-opened bottle.

"It's 'Wilkins', sir," the man said quietly as he handed over the fine goblet full of blood-red liquid.

"Of course it is, Williams," Renard didn't bother to look at the man. He took a sip of the wine as he leaned in to examine the king's portrait. He took another sip absently, then frowned and looked down at the goblet. With a huff of annoyance he threw it aside, ignoring the sound of expensive crystal shattering. "Too sweet. Dispose of the entire case and bring me something else."

"Yes, sir." Wilkins picked up the tray and left quickly. Almost immediately one of the servant girls entered with a bucket and cloth. Renard ignored her, his attention focused on the violet-eyed blond in the king's portrait.

"Florian du Rochefort," he said the name slowly, testing it. "Just another fallen noble. But soon we will have more in common than the color of our hair." He turned his gaze to the white queen's portrait. "Ray Balzac Courland. How unfortunate for you, dear Florian, that I don't like to share."

XXXXX

Ethan Kensington loved Paris. It was noisy and crowded and didn't always smell the best, but it was alive in ways that his desert home would never be. Nevertheless, he was always glad to return home, and this time would be no exception. He wouldn't have even made the long journey if his mission wasn't too important to trust to subordinates.

The address was easy enough to find, but he wasn't in a hurry to announce his presence. He preferred to observe before acting, especially in a situation as delicate as this one. He'd heard rumors, of course, it was almost impossible to travel in certain circles and not hear about the infamous Ray Balzac Courland and his equally infamous companion Florian du Rochefort.

Rochefort wasn't really Kensington's concern, but he wasn't foolish enough to dismiss him out of hand, especially not when the rumors were so... interesting.

It wasn't as if he cared who Courland bedded, but if the relationship was more than physical, it might provide an advantage. Kensington had the feeling he'd need every one he could get.

XXXXX

"Remember Morocco," Ray repeated the card's message for the third time, his eyes on the small pile of sand that had fallen from the envelope. Seated at his side, Florian had gone chalk-white, the glass of brandy Laila pressed on him clutched in his hand.

"Drink that," Laila insisted before reaching for the card. She held it under the light and examined it as if there might be a secret message woven into the fine linen. She looked up and frowned at the patterns Ray was making in the sand.

With a shudder, Florian wrenched his gaze away from the card and downed the brandy in one long swallow. He set the glass down on the desk and stood unsteadily.

"I need air," he mumbled, pushing past them towards the patio doors that let light into Florian's little office. He fumbled the handle before exiting, leaving the door open behind him.

"Let him go," Ray told Laila as she moved to follow. "He won't leave the grounds."

Laila knew it was true, but it was hard to remain still; they all carried scars from Morocco.

"It's not from Azura," Ray told her when the silence stretched on too long. "He wouldn't be this subtle." Ray touched the sand again. "All we can do is wait for the person to reveal themselves."

"You think they will? That this isn't some new kind of game?"

"Azura doesn't play that way." Ray assured her. "He wants me back under his control and he wants us to believe he wants Florian dead."

"You don't think he does? Want Florian dead?" Laila looked skeptical. "I thought he made that intent very clear."

"He did. And if Azura had meant it, we would have buried Florian three years ago; he never would have made it back to Paris." Ray carefully brushed the sand back into the envelope. "No, this is someone else, someone who has nothing to do with Azura."

"You'll have a hard time convincing Florian of that."

"It may be better if I don't. Until I know more about this," he tapped the envelope," I want him close."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that," Laila said with a hint of amusement. She nodded at the door. Ray turned to follow her gaze and saw Florian standing a short distance away at the edge of the herb garden, his posture stiff as he stared into the distance. "It would be a nice day for tea in the garden. Thirty minutes?"

"Forty-five," Ray countered, touching Laila's hand lightly and giving her a smile of thanks before handing her the envelope and joining Florian outside.

XXXXXX

Natalie Courland was a terrible dancer. Her mother had tried everything from private dance instructors to bribery but it had all been wasted effort. In the end they'd reached a truce and Natalie spent most dances in a remote corner watching her sisters and waiting for the time to pass.

Mother hosted three major events each year and Natalie was required to attend, and to dance, at each one. They'd settled on minimal damage by allowing Natalie to dance at the edge of the dance floor farthest away from the entrance and the buffet. Her usual partner was an unlucky cousin, but at the spring festival she'd been partnered with his friend from university instead.

"This is Benjamin. He's from Arabia and lives next door to me in the university dorm," the cousin had said, making a minimal effort at introductions before fleeing towards the food.

"Natalie Courland," she introduced herself while offering a hand in greeting. She'd never met someone from so far away. "I'm a terrible dancer," she added as a caution and as an apology.

"Benjamin Thomas," he replied after kissing her hand. "I don't know your dances well; I'm hoping to work up to terrible."

"That I can help with," she assured him before allowing him to drag her onto the edge of the dance floor. They stumbled around each other, laughing too much to be proper, but having too much fun to care.

"I believe I am about to be chastised," Benjamin cautioned, catching sight of a woman who bore strong resemblance to Natalie.

"Hello, Mother. Have you met Mr. Thomas from Arabia?"

"We have not been properly introduced." She made it sound like a crime.

"Lady Courland, it is an honor to meet you," Benjamin gave a formal bow. "I am Benjamin Thomas. I attend university with your nephew, Paul."

"A pleasure to meet you," Lady Courland replied stiffly. "Forgive my daughter, sir. She often forgets her manners."

"Not at all. In fact, she has been kind enough to overlook my ignorance of these new dances. I'm afraid my education in such things has been quite poor."

"She's teaching you to dance?" Lady Courland's voice rose a full octave. She looked at the two misfits safely off in a corner, then regarded the rest of the room where the other guests spared them only a few curious looks. It was as good a solution as she could hope for. "If you are sure..."

"Both you and your daughter are showing me a great kindness," Benjamin assured her, giving her hand another kiss, and adding a flourish at the end just to be extra charming. Lady Courland nodded once and took her leave, trying not to look like she was running away.

Natalie made sure her back was to the room before giving Benjamin a wink and a broad smile.

XXXXX

Michel Courland was looking forward to spending three weeks in Paris. He hadn't been home in months and he missed the familiar chaos of the city. He also had a few new acquisitions to show off including a painting that would make his peers green with envy. Well, all but his cousin. Ray was damnably hard to impress.

Small wonder, Michel admitted to himself, Ray already had a treasure that Michel could never match - the companionship of Florian du Rochefort. The man was gorgeous and had a lineage that put the Courland line to shame. The faint whiff of scandal over Lady Rochefort's death only made Florian more attractive, despite his penniless state. If only Michel had gotten to him first...

He sighed and picked up the small hardwood box, admiring the ivory inlay and gold details. It was an exquisite piece, as was the jade carving inside. Michel could just imagine the delight on Florian's face - and the annoyance on Ray's - when he presented it to the man. Michel wasn't much of a diplomat, but he understood the value of a well placed gift.

He set the box down carefully in the center of his desk and smiled. Yes, this would be a most enjoyable stay in Paris.

XXXXX

Solomon Sugar had a weakness for cats. He stared up into the branches of a huge oak tree and wondered when he'd lost his hard-edged policeman's manner. It would be an easy enough climb up to rescue the cat - again - but these were new trousers, damnit, and he didn't exactly have the funds to replace them.

He gave the anxious elderly woman a weak smile and took hold of the lowest branch. Ten minutes later he dropped lightly to the ground clutching an irritated cat and wearing three new sets of scratches. There was a long tear on the left left leg of his trousers and one of the scratches was bleeding onto the collar of his shirt.

It was only eleven, but he decided to quit for the day before anything else went wrong. Accepting the woman's thanks and one more swipe from the ungrateful cat, Solomon hurried away. It wasn't until he'd walked two blocks before he realized he was heading in the direction of Ray Courland's house rather than his own.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd availed himself of Ray's hospitality or Laila's seamstress skills. An easy afternoon of conversation with Florian, spiced with a few barbs from Ray sounded like an excellent cure for Solomon's current ills. Besides, now that Laila had given up cooking, their food was excellent and plentiful and Solomon's pantry was rather sparse these days.

He was anticipating lunch so intently that Solomon nearly missed the messenger boy standing at the gate to Ray's mansion.

XXXXX

"This is very good," Florian said after taking another drink of tea. He set the cup down with a soft clink and smiled. He was in proper aristocrat mode at the moment but Ray didn't object; at times like this Florian fell back on his deeply ingrained behaviors to give himself time to think.

"Laila's been to that new tea shop three times this week. Apparently she finds their new clerk interesting." Ray smiled at the spark of interest that flared in Florian's eyes; he and Laila couldn't resist an opportunity to tease each other and this was a rare tidbit. Ray fully intended to sit back and wait to see how Florian used it. He just hoped there'd be less property damage than last time, and that he'd remain nimble enough to avoid the flying cutlery.

Florian's attention wandered again and Ray let it happen. He had his own thoughts to deal with, and the awareness of that envelope and its curious contents.

Thoughts of Morocco always brought memories of Azura. He didn't often think of his life before that, before he and his mother had fled to Fez and lost themselves in the dark alleyways and dim rooms of their tiny apartment. He barely remembered his father's face or the sound of his voice as he sang. Ray didn't waste time wondering what would have happened if he had been older stronger when his grandfather died and his father was murdered. His rightful heritage as ruler of the clan was just one more distant memory. Paris was his life now, along with the man sitting across from him, reaching for his hand.

"We're a pair," Florian said softly, giving Ray's hand a slight squeeze. "Sitting in this lovely garden and both of us miles away."

"Farther than that, I think," Ray replied easily. He used his other hand to lift his teacup, but the liquid had gone cold. He drained the cup anyway, the slight bitterness suiting his mood. Florian favored honey in his tea, but Ray always took it plain.

"There's nothing on the calendar that can't be cancelled or postponed. If accommodations are available we could leave by Friday."

"And go where, exactly?" Ray asked, although he knew the answer. It was too much to ask this of Florian, but he dreaded the thought of taking this journey without him.

"Where we need to go. Both of us." Florian took one last drink of his tea and set the cup down deliberately. "If you even think of leaving me behind, I will follow you."

"I know," Ray admitted, unable to keep the smile from his lips. "Stubborn."

"One of my best traits," Florian assured him. "Too stubborn to remain in fear of an entire country. I may never find a reason to forgive Azura for what he did, but I am more than stubborn enough, and determined enough, to stop being afraid." There was no waver in Florian's voice and his expression and posture left no room for doubt.

"Morocco it is," Ray conceded, reaching over and taking the last cream cake off Florian's plate. Florian caught Ray's hand and held it steady while he leaned in and took a bite. He met Ray's gaze calmly before releasing his hand. Ray popped the rest of the cake into his own mouth and smiled as he chewed.

XXXXX

"They're in the garden," Laila said in place of a greeting, eying Solomon up and down before holding out her hand. Solomon gave her a sheepish smile and handed over his soiled jacket. "Change first and let me get a start on the mending. Those two won't care that you're wearing Ray's old things."

"You're a lifesaver, Laila," Solomon told her, already headed for the guest closet where spare clothes were kept for him. He freshened up and changed in the guest bath and stopped by the kitchen on his way past to claim a piece of shortbread and some coffee.

"Roast chicken for dinner with mashed potatoes just the way you like, so save some room there," the cook chided as Solomon gave her a wave. Violetta was younger than him, but she reminded Solomon of his grandmother. She'd been a welcome addition to Ray's chaotic household, and a necessary one since, somehow, Laila's cooking had managed to get worse over time.

To this day, little Noel was the only one who actually liked what Laila cooked. Now that he was away at boarding school and not so little anymore, Laila had gracefully surrendered the kitchen to Violetta and found more interesting ways to entertain herself. She'd taken up the piano recently, much to Florian's annoyance, and Ray had finally threatened to lock them in the music room and let them duel it out while Ray went out for a long dinner.

Florian had apologized immediately, of course, and promptly taken up guitar. Ray had developed a sudden liking for long walks and the whole thing had settled the way every other uproar settled in this house with one of Noir's ridiculous adventures.

Solomon was just grateful that he was no longer a policeman; it meant that he could appreciate Noir's exploits without being obligated to do anything about them. It still didn't mean he approved, but he had a much better understanding of Noir's methods now, and the ways in which local charities benefitted. Having jewels stolen by the infamous Noir had even become something of a status symbol among the European elite.

"Solomon!" Florian's greeting brought Solomon back to the present. The man was always happy to see him and a pleasant counter to Ray's affected scowl. "Come join us. I see you brought your own tea."

"Coffee this time, but the thought's the same." Solomon took a seat and nodded his greeting to Ray.

"Been chasing cats up trees again?" Ray rarely missed a detail and Solomon hadn't tried to hide his scratches. This wasn't the first time he'd shown up at Ray's with such wounds.

"The angora cat again?" Florian asked sympathetically as he pushed the nearly empty plate of sweets closer.

"Isn't it always?" Solomon asked, adding a bit of drama. Sometimes he enjoyed Florian's fussing, or rather, he enjoyed the way it irritated Ray.

"You are aware that cats can climb down as easily as they climb up? Next time leave the fleabag up there; she'll come down when she's hungry."

"Ray!" Florian wasn't really as shocked as he pretended to be - he had heard this before - but he knew Ray expected a reaction in front of Solomon, so he provided one. Florian also knew that Ray had asked the cook to save scraps for the local strays, and sometimes, he'd conveniently appeared when Florian was playing with one of those cats on the patio. There was a calico in particular that Ray seemed to favor.

"I would think you would have a particular appreciation for cats, Ray," Solomon said mildly before drinking the last of his coffee. He set the cup down and reached into a fold of the borrowed jacket he was wearing. He extracted the small package he'd acquired from the messenger in front of Ray's gate and held it up for the other men to see. "Special delivery and no return address," he cautioned before handing it to Ray.

Solomon watched curiously as Ray examined the package far longer than would seem necessary. When he seemed satisfied, he opened it carefully, his eyes seeking Florian's more than once. At last the plain brown wrapping was set neatly on the table with the white box it had contained held on the palm of Ray's left hand.

Without speaking, Florian reached over and lifted the lid off the box. He held on to it even as his attention was drawn to the hair comb inside. It was tortoise shell with an intricately carved design of flowers and leaves at the top.

"Morocco?" Florian asked, much to Solomon's surprise.

"I'm not sure," Ray answered. We had very little when we fled. What little we had was sold early on for food and lodging." Ray examined the comb carefully, studying it as if the carved detail held the key he needed to understand why someone was sending him mysterious packages.

"What if it's not Morocco? What if that was just the start - a way for you to retrace the journey you took with-"

"That's not the answer, Florian," Ray snapped. "It can't be."

"It's been nearly ten years. Would it be safe for you to go back?" Florian asked urgently. He was gripping his napkin as it would somehow provide surety and calm.

Solomon looked between the two men, aware that he was missing a very important piece of information but unable to even guess when it might be. He took the comb and examined it while reviewing the conversation he'd just heard. Coming to his own conclusion, Solomon set the comb down very carefully and leaned forward, placing both hands down on the table.

"Arrange transport to Morocco as soon as you can." Solomon looked first at Ray, then at Florian before adding, "I'm coming with you."

"No, not Morocco," Ray said at last, his eyes locked on the comb. It all began here in Paris; that's where we're going to start."

XXXXX

"Well, this is a surprise." Michel strode forward, brushing past Ray without pause as he extended his hand to Florian. "I had intended to call on you this evening."

"A bit of good fortune, then," Florian replied, returning the handshake. "Welcome back to Paris. Will you be staying long? There's a new exhibit at the museum you might find interesting."

"You have me for three weeks," Michel replied, flirting shamelessly just to annoy Ray. Florian rewarded the effort with a brilliant smile.

"It's terrible of us to impose like this, but I was hoping you might extend a favor?" Florian leaned in slightly, lowering his voice slightly. It was a familiar game that he and Michel were playing, and one that they'd set limits to long ago. Florian basked in Michel's flattery, and Michel savored the opportunity to annoy his cousin. Along the way, Florian and Michel had become friends. That was the part that annoyed Ray the most.

"We don't have all day," Ray grumbled, pushing himself between Michel and Florian. "Do you still have those old trunks in the attic?"

"Dozens," Michel assured him. "I have better things to do than to spend my free time pawing through dusty relics."

"Then you won't mind if I have a look?" Ray took a step, in a hurry to get this over with, but Florian stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"I'll accompany you, if Michel doesn't mind." Florian was glad that Solomon hadn't insisted on joining them, it was enough work trying to keep Ray and Michel calm.

"We'll all go," Michel replied, knowing that there had to be a very good reason for Ray to come asking for any kind of favor. He mentally reviewed the contents of the attic, trying to remember what was actually stored there. There was some old furniture, or course, but most of what he remembered were trunks and boxes of belongings from family members who had moved away or died.

Michel's father was the youngest of four children but he'd inherited the family home - perhaps because it was the smallest of the Courland mansions. Michel wasn't home often enough to care about such matters, and he enjoyed the comfort of familiar surroundings. His parents were rarely around, preferring to travel or spend time in their other homes around the globe.

Michel never mentioned it to Ray, but he suspected the reason his parents had started their peripatetic ways was Ray himself. Michel's father had adored his only sister and he'd been determined to find her and bring her back to Paris. He was the only one who still spoke of her after the rest of the family had severed ties with Natalie.

Michel certainly hadn't been happy to come home from boarding school one holiday break to find a strange boy in his home. Ray was three years younger than him, but seemed like a little, unruly adult. Ray had known nothing of proper behavior, speaking roughly and often refusing to wear shoes. He could barely even read.

Michel shook his head, remembering his own jealousy and the terrible tricks he'd tried to play on his new-found cousin. He'd deeply resented being sent back to boarding school while Ray was allowed to remain in Michel's house and study with private tutors.

Michel didn't come home for more than a year after his first, disastrous meeting with Ray. He'd told his school friends about the savage in his home and they'd offered to let him spend breaks with them instead.

When Michel's mother finally demanded his presence, he'd returned home to find a very different Ray Courland. The wild boy had been replaced by a polite, well groomed young man. In some ways the change made Michel dislike Ray even more. Michel had never been stupid or lazy, but he felt like he was both compared to his brilliant cousin.

Ray had become something of a sensation at parties, for both his wit and his exotic looks. All the young women, the ones who had once vied with dance with Michel, now flocked to Ray. And damn him if he didn't charm every one of them.

After that, Michel found more reasons not to come home for a while. It wasn't until his mother informed him that Ray had been admitted to the Sorbonne and was no longer living with them that Michel felt he could go home again.

He glanced over at Ray who was kneeling on the dusty floor rifling through a trunk with a look of intense determination. His body was stiff, as if he was deeply uneasy.

Ray hadn't lived in his house for years, and had no interest in claiming it now, but the sense of him being so uncomfortable made Michel wonder if his cousin had ever considered this his home.

XXXXXX

"Michel Courland is of no consequence," Renard commented to Wilkins as he handed him another heavy book. "My interest is limited to Ray Courland and his pet aristocrat. The servant girl, Laila, is loyal to Ray, so I may exploit that if there's good reason. The others in Courland's band of misfits pose no challenge." Perrin Renard leaned back, a thoughtful look on his handsome face.

His platinum blond hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck and draped over one shoulder. Perrin toyed idly with the ends, before catching a loose hair. He pulled it slowly until it was free, then quickly wrapped the ends around his hands and pressed the strand against his own neck like a garrote. He pulled it away and considered it for a moment before discarding the hair.

Yes, that would be appropriate for Ray's dear Florian. Quick, but not too quick, and it would leave the man's pretty face unmarked. Surely Ray would appreciate the effort.

XXXXX

"Benjamin will be joining us for dinner?" Natalie looked up from her book, giving her mother a smile. The family had accepted Benjamin much faster than she could have hoped for. In a year, when he completed his studies, they'd surely understand her intention to accompany him to Egypt.

"He will be here by five. He had business to attend to after class today, but he was sure he'd be finished in time for dinner."

"Excellent," Lady Courland said, starting to turn away, then stopping. She hesitated, then stepped forward, crossing the room with a look of determination that translated into 'we're about to have a talk you don't want to have'.

"Have a seat, Mother. It can't be that bad."

"You may change that opinion when you hear what I have to say." She sounded regretful. "Your father and I have been talking."

"And?" Natalie marked her place in her book and set it aside.

"We've had a letter from the Gastons. You remember Damian?"

"The spotty fellow with the yellow teeth?" A sliver of cold dread made Natalie sit straighter. "You can't intend..." The flash of guilt in her mother's eyes was impossible to miss. "Never!"

"The Gaston shipyards-"

"They could be the richest family in the world and I'd want nothing to do with them. Mother, surely..."

"You spend too much time dreaming," mother says flatly. "You've known all your life that you would have a marriage of advantage. Don't pretend to be outraged now. You would have a good life."

"I would have an empty life, Mother. And what about Benjamin?"

"Benjamin is a very nice man, but he's not one of us, Natalie. A match with him was never an option; he's just another one of your fancies."

"Benjamin isn't a fancy, Mother. We care about each other. We're simply waiting until he finished university."

"Yes, when he finishes university and returns to his own kind." Mother patted Natalie on the knee before standing. "I believe it would be better if we did not dine with Mr. Thomas this evening. I'll have your father send him our regrets and suggest that he make other plans from now on."

Ignoring Natalie's cry of dismay, Lady Courland left the room without looking back.

XXXXX

"Detective?" Solomon turned quickly but cautiously towards the unfamiliar voice.

"Yes?"

"Ethan Kensington, Detective." The man gestured towards a cafe a short distance ahead. "May I offer you a coffee? There's something I'd like to discuss."

"Of course," Solomon agreed, aware of the busy sidewalk they were standing on. He preferred not to draw attention to himself unless it was absolutely necessary. They found a seat in the cafe towards the back, well away from the few other customers. It was just late enough to have missed the lunch crowd, and not late enough for afternoon tea.

"I haven't had lunch yet. Please join me?" Kensington urged. They placed their orders and made small talk until the waiter returned with their platters and coffee. The food was excellent, and they ate in silence until their plates were almost clear.

"You wanted to discuss something?" Solomon prompted when it became obvious that Kensington was in no hurry.

"I did. I understand you are an acquaintance of Count Ray Balzac Courland?"

"I've met him on occasion," Solomon replied cautiously. His association with Ray wasn't a secret, but he didn't exactly publicize it either.

"I believe it's a bit more than that. You were in Morocco with him and his companions a few years ago."

"I met them there, yes. It was happenstance, not a planned meeting."

"Convenient then," Kensington commented mildly. "You are aware of Count Courland's heritage, are you not?"

"I know he was not born in Paris."

"Indeed. You are surprisingly diplomatic for a former policeman." Kensington pushed his now-empty plate aside and leaned forward, reaching into his inner coat pocket and removing a heavy item which he set down on the table. "What do you know of Arabia?"

Solomon studied the item, weighing his words before answering. He didn't know much about Ray's past, but what he did know Ray had told him in confidence to safeguard Laila and Florian.

"I know of the country but not much more."

"Somehow I doubt that, Detective." Kensington held up a hand to stop whatever Solomon intended to say. "I won't press you, but there are things you need to know that even Ray Courland is not aware of. His past is not as far away as he believes." He picked up the item and showed it to Solomon, making sure the detective recognized the significance of it before returning it to his pocket.

"I assume this is not good news."

"You assume correctly. Your friend has claimed only one of his legacies, that of his mother's people. His father's legacy nearly cost him his life when he was a child. If he is not careful now, it will finish him and all those close to him."

"Why are you telling me this? What is your place in this matter?"

"Ray Courland is the rightful leader of my clan. The man who murdered his father and took his place has brought nothing but misery to my people. He knows there are those still loyal to Ray's family, and he wants Ray eliminated."

"Ray fled Arabia years ago," Solomon said, deciding he could admit to knowing at least that much of Ray's past. "He is successful and content here in Paris and has never indicated any interest in reclaiming his father's legacy."

"Do you think that matters to a man with so much blood on his hands already? He killed Ray's father and is indirectly responsible for the death of Ray's mother. Do you think he will be content letting Ray live when his very existence gives his opposition hope?"

Solomon shook his head, knowing the answer but not liking it one bit. He glanced around the cafe and noted that it was becoming more crowded. He didn't want to continue this discussion where someone might overhear.

"Come with me," he urged. "I'll take you to Ray." A hard lump settled in Solomon's chest. He had no reason to believe this man, and no reason not to. He didn't want to take him to Ray, but it was the only thing he could do. As much as he might want to, it wasn't Solomon's place to make decisions for his friend. Especially not when Laila's and Florian's safety was on the line.

XXXXX

"Here's another one," Florian said, once he'd finished coughing. He was searching in the farthest corner of the attic and had managed to raise a significant amount of dust.

"That makes three so far," Michel said as he approached, helping Florian to move the newly-discovered trunk to the center of the room with the other two. They returned to their search but didn't find anything else labeled 'Natalie Courland'.

Michel was grateful to whichever family member had labeled everything - it made the search easier and less distracting. Regardless, Ray still seemed reticent to actually open the trunks. After a long moment Michel sighed and moved to do it himself. Florian stopped him.

"When you are ready, Ray," Florian said mildly, not a hint of impatience in his voice or manner. The calm acceptance seemed to help and after a several long minutes Ray reached for the first trunk.

There were the usual items one expected to find in a lady's trunk - dresses, some accessories - although nothing that looked particularly valuable - and some books and oddments. Ray flipped through a few of the books, but didn't spare more than a glance at anything else.

The second trunk was much like the first, but the last one, that was the one that stopped Ray cold. Nestled beneath silk and lace was an ornate wooden box containing photographs and drawings and even a topaz brooch much like the one he had locked up in his safe at home. Ray returned everything to the box in precisely the right order and set it aside to take home. He'd claim all of it eventually - perhaps Laila would want the clothing, or at least have a use for the fabric, but he wanted the box now.

"There aren't any letters," Florian spoke softly, almost as if he hated to say the words. "Shouldn't there be letters?"

"She left Paris in a hurry," Michel said into the uncomfortable silence. He wasn't sure how much Ray knew, or how much he'd want to reveal even to someone as close as Florian, but there wasn't much point in keeping it a secret. "Her parents were pressuring her to marry so she fled to Egypt with someone she had befriended."

Ray laughed at Michel's effort to be diplomatic.

"You mean she left Paris with her lover, my father." My mother hated the restrictions Parisian society forced on her. She and father went to Egypt and that's where I was born. They were content there for years, but grandfather died and it was father's responsibility to lead the clan. We were only in Arabia a short time when father was murdered. It was thanks to loyal friends that mother and I escaped. Mother wanted to return home to France, but the only safe passage was by way of Morocco and it took many months for us to reach Fez. By then we were long out of money and had nothing left to sell. The shock of losing father, and the long journey had taken its toll on mother's health. She never recovered and, if it hadn't been for Azura helping me, I wouldn't have survived long enough to be found my Michel's parents."

Michel stared at his cousin, amazed that he'd willingly shared so much. It was rare to get Ray to talk about his past. Michel hadn't realized it at the time, but looking back years later he realized how unwelcoming Parisian society had been to Ray. Michel certainly hadn't done anything to make him feel welcome either. More than once he'd asked his parents why they'd even bothered to search for their lost nephew, let alone bring him back to Paris, and from Ray's behavior at the time, he'd felt the same way.

"Letters," Michel blurted out, suddenly realizing where they needed to search. "It's not your mother's things we need to search, it's my mother's, or even grandmother's. If your mother corresponded with anyone from Egypt it would have been my parents or our grandparents. From what father has said, Natalie wasn't close to either of her elder brothers, but she doted on father."

"Look for Elaine or Marie," Michel told Florian, hurrying off to search and giving the two men a moment of privacy. He glanced back and was glad to see Florian resting a comforting hand on Ray's back.

XXXXX

The invitation was delivered by a well dressed messenger boy along with a single rose.

"For Count Courland," the boy said as he presented the items on a silver tray. Laila took the items and placed a tip on the tray earning a delighted grin from the messenger. He bowed once, rather quickly, and ran off, the tray under his arm and the tip in his pocket.

Laila studied the invitation curiously before setting it down on the table in the foyer. She carried the rose into the kitchen and placed it in a vase knowing Ray wouldn't mind if she enjoyed it.

She was surprised that they hadn't returned yet and was considering supper on her own when someone knocked. She almost greeted Solomon with her usual "what are you doing here" but stopped herself when she saw that Solomon had brought a guest.

"Ethan Kensington, Miss." The man gave her a half-bow. "Would Count Courland be receiving guests?"

"He's out," Laila replied plainly, directing her answer at Solomon. She frowned at the look he gave her, but relented and moved back. "He shouldn't be much longer. You are welcome to wait."

"I don't want to impose," Kensington insisted, giving Solomon a curious look when he breezed into the house as if he lived there.

"The parlor or the study?" Solomon asked, hanging up his hat and jacket as if it were habit. Kensington removed his own jacket and hat and handed them to Laila with polite thanks.

"Into the parlor with you," Laila made a shooing motion before adding, "Ray's still hasn't forgiven you for your last visit to his study. He had those books out for a reason and you reshelved them. And took the markers out."

"Just trying to help tidy," Solomon said lightly as he led Kensington down the hall. Just before entering the parlor he called out, "We want fruit tarts and cream cakes so don't skimp on the tea cart."

"We just ate," Kensington reminded him, bemused.

"It's the principle of the matter," Solomon replied, settling into a chair and picking up a book from the side table. He flipped through it before setting it down again. "Florian's," he explained, before taking up another book, scanning it, then repositioning the marker a good dozen pages farther into the story. He returned it to the table with a smile.

Ethan Kensington leaned back in his chair and waited, not quite sure he was ready to be in the same room with the count and the detective.

XXXXX

They'd ended up searching every trunk in the attic. Their spoils lay in three tidy piles in a box. Florian had carefully noted which trunk had yielded which items, but Michel didn't seem to think it was that important. He was more concerned about Ray's hard-edged silence.

Florian refused Michel's offer of refreshments and followed closely as Ray picked up the box and set a rapid pace towards the front door. Florian kept up with the manner of someone who had much practice while Michel trailed them a half-dozen steps behind, his expression caught between thoughtful and troubled.

Florian took care of the niceties required for them to part, but his gratitude was genuine and he touched Michel's hand lightly when he urged him to visit soon. Michel said nothing when Florian took the wheel instead of Ray and he watched the driveway well after the car had driven away.

XXXXXX

"Not now," Ray growled when Laila met them at the door to inform them that Ray had visitors.

"Perhaps I...?" Florian offered. He wasn't really in the mood to entertain, but he'd gladly take the burden from Ray.

"No," Ray bit out, shoving the box of letters at him instead. "I won't be long."

Florian accepted the task without complaint, giving Laila a quelling look before retreating to Ray's study. He preferred the light in his own office, but knew that Ray would take comfort in his own book-lined sanctuary.

Clearing the library table, Florian sorted everything into piles by sender before trying to rearrange them chronologically. He was tempted to start with the letters belonging to Michel's mother and father. After all, they were the ones to rescue Ray from Morocco, so they were the most likely to have been in contact with Natalie Courland. But these letters seemed too important to be read by an outsider like him before Ray had the chance to see them. No, he would work chronologically and let Ray scold him.

There were two comfortable arm chairs in the room, recent acquisitions after a couple of intruders had made the mistake of trying to rob the mansion. Other than the old chairs, the property damage had been minimal. The intruders had not been so fortunate and by the time the police arrived they'd been begging to be taken away.

Florian settled into the chair he'd unintentionally claimed, the one closer to the window and the fireplace. There was no fire today - it was much too warm. The sun was low in the sky, but still cast enough light for him to begin reading.

XXXXX

Perrin Renard leaned back in his chair and surveyed his surroundings. The Gentleman's Club was the most exclusive club in Paris but it was always crowded. He accepted the glass of wine offered by his personal server and waved him off to the side. He knew the man would be there when Perrin wanted something.

It was dinnertime and groups nearby were being served elaborate meals. The smells were enticing, but not enough to distract Renard from his planning.

He'd set the first stage into action by sending the invitation to Count Courland. He expected a response within two days and during that time he would set his servants to work preparing food and tidying the grounds for an elaborate party. He'd invited the cr me de la cr me of European society as cover, but there were only three men he was interested in. Ray Courland and his pet should be no problem, but the third... Ah, excellent timing.

He drained his glass and signaled impatiently for another, grasping the waiter's wrist when he moved to pour.

"Vodka," he snapped. "Bring the bottle and two glasses."

The waiter retreated hastily and only then did Renard stand. He took one step forward to greet the new arrival.

"John Romwell, Jr. It's a pleasure." The new arrival merely smiled, ignoring the man's outstretched hand as he took a seat and helped himself to the vodka that had just been delivered.

"You said there was a matter to discuss?"

"Do you know a man by the name of Ray Balzac Courland?"

"Yes, I do," Romwell replied, answering Renard's cold smile with one of his own.

XXXXX

"You don't have a choice in the matter!" Kensington ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward in his chair. It was taking everything he had to keep from leaping to his feet and taking Courland by the collar. Why couldn't he see reason?

"I have every choice in the matter." Ray countered coldly. "My legacy as leader of your clan ended with my father's assassination. My mother and I fled for our lives and only the intervention of a friendly tribe of Tuareg saved us. But in the end it didn't matter because mother died anyway and I was left to fend for myself in a place that has no pity for the helpless. If I was so important to the clan, why did it take you so long to find me?"

"Many of those loyal to your father were also killed. The few of us that survived were forced into hiding. It has taken us this long to put the pieces into place to overthrow your father's murderer. Now that he is disposed of, and his minions dispatched, it is safe for you to return."

"Who is in charge until my arrival?"

"The son of one of your father's most trusted advisors. He and his mother were in England when the coup occurred."

"I see. And this interim leader has been prepared for the position? He is well trained and a good leader?"

"He is," Kensington assured Ray quickly feeling as if he was being led into a trap from which he couldn't escape. He cast a nervous glance at Solomon who gave a small shake of his head in warning.

"Why not accept this man as your new clan head?" Ray asked, far too calmly, "I have no training, nothing that has prepared me to be your leader and I have obligations here that cannot be ignored.

"This is your birthright. The clan is your obligation and blood ties are stronger than any of these," Kensington gestured at the room in general, "obligations." He knew the minute he finished speaking that he'd made a grave mistake. Solomon's expression confirmed it.

Without another word Ray stood and started to walk away. He stopped just before the doorway and turned.

"Did you send the sand and the comb?"

"The comb, yes, but nothing else."

Ray nodded once as if he'd expected the answer, then turned on his heel and left the room.

"Well," Laila said with false brightness. "Allow me to escort you gentlemen out." The look she gave Solomon promised all manner of trouble if he didn't comply.

XXXXX

Florian returned the letter he'd been reading to its envelope and set it on the pile with the others. He rubbed his eyes tiredly before picking up the next one on the unread stack. The handwriting was small and lavish, the letters close together and embellished with extra curls and loops that made it difficult to read. Of the few letters he'd already reviewed there had been no mention of Natalie Courland.

He'd found a few references to Rochefort ancestors that had distracted him momentarily, but he'd pushed those thoughts aside and returned to his task, working his way steadily through reports of parties, family gatherings and travel along with the usual congratulations for weddings and births.

His nerves were on edge but wasn't sure why. There wasn't anything these old letters could reveal about his family or Ray's that would be worse than the reality of Florian's uncle killing his mother and trying to frame Florian for her murder.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the high-backed chair, closing his eyes for a moment. The pain had eased, but there was still a void left by his mother's death that would never be filled. It had been just the two of them for so long and he'd lost her and everything else so quickly that he still hadn't fully adjusted to the loss.

He looked down at the letters still waiting to be read and wondered if he shouldn't just burn them all. Ray's life had been turned upside down twice already, did he really need to have it happen again?

"You're being overly dramatic," he told himself out loud, forcing a smile at his own absurdity.

"I enjoy the drama," Ray replied, leaning against the door frame and trying to appear relaxed despite the visible tension in his shoulders.

"Are the visitors gone?"

"If they know what's good for them. Laila is escorting them out."

"Oh, dear," Florian said, knowing that was anything but good. He stood and moved to Ray's side quickly. "They upset you."

"I've been informed that it is my obligation to claim my place as clan leader."

"Leader?" Florian took a half step back. "But..."

"It's not going to happen," Ray insisted, reaching out and tangling his hand in Florian's hair. He drew his lover close and kissed him urgently. "I won't leave you," he promised when they broke apart. This time Florian kissed him.

"Can this wait?" Florian gestured towards the letters. "I need..." he choked off the words, unable to express the desperate wave emotion that filled him. He clutched at Ray as if they were drowning.

"It can wait," Ray assured him, grabbing his arm and dragging him from the room.

Laila stood in the hall and watched as Ray led Florian upstairs. At one time it would have made her jealous, but she'd learned to set aside those feelings. It didn't mean she loved Ray any less, but she'd finally accepted that she would never provide what he needed the way Florian could.

So she turned towards the kitchen intending to have a word with the cook. She knew from experience that Ray and Florian would want to take dinner in their rooms tonight. It was something she tried not to think about, preferring instead to be grateful that Florian could calm Ray and bring him back from the dark places he slipped into on occasion.

She had held back some of the cream cakes when she'd prepared the tea cart for Solomon and that Kensington fellow. She would make sure those cakes were included with the dinner delivered to Ray's rooms this evening.

XXXXXX

"Let me," Florian growled, pressing Ray back against the door as soon as it was closed. The maid had been in to clean the suite but Florian barely noticed. He was too intent on removing some of the layers between him and Ray's skin.

Ray went compliant, letting Florian do all the work of removing clothing and tasting skin. It was only when Florian dropped to his knees that Ray moved. He put a hand on Florian's head and pressed him forward, taking control as Florian took Ray's hardening flesh into his mouth and began to suck.

There would be no teasing, no drawing out the pleasure. That would come later. But now, at this moment, Ray needed release and he intended to take it.

Florian didn't resist as Ray set a harsh pace, thrusting deep and withdrawing for his own pleasure and without a care for Florian's. It was rare for Ray to need this, so Florian remained compliant. He moaned deep in his throat and put his hands on Ray's thighs - not to guide him or push him away, but just to have some kind of contact as he allowed himself to be used.

Florian tried not to let himself think of anything beyond the slide of flesh across his lips and the heat of Ray's hands on his head. It became easier as the pace increased and by the time he was swallowing frantically, the only thought left was: Ray.

When Ray stilled, Florian tightened his lips around Ray's flesh, holding on as he shifted forward and rested his body against Ray's legs. Florian was hard and his body was practically vibrating with want, but he set his own needs aside to just be there for Ray.

"Come on," Ray said after a long silence. He pulled free and reached down to help Florian stand. He helped Florian to the bed but didn't let him sit. Instead, he methodically stripped Florian until he stood before Ray naked. Ray lifted Florian's arms up so they were away from his body and left them there as he removed his own clothing and tossed them on the same chair as Florian's.

When they were both unclothed, Ray pressed himself against Florian's chest, drawing the man into a tight embrace. He left one hand on Florian's upper back while the other skimmed downward to Florian's lower back. Pressed together as closely as they could manage, Ray began to sway. Florian responded instantly, his hands sliding into the proper positions for an intimate dance. They moved in a slow circle with Florian humming under his breath until some more of the tension in Ray's back eased.

They clung to each other a little longer before Ray eased Florian down onto the bed. He followed him down, covering the slender body with his broader form. Ray tucked his face into Florian's neck and they rested like that, Florian tracing small patterns on Ray's arms.

"I don't want to lose you," Florian confessed into the silence.

"Selfish," Ray teased, his tone more serious than his words.

"I know I am," Florian confessed, his chest hitching as he took in a ragged breath. "I know."

"Shh, shh," Ray soothed, lifting his head to kiss Florian's eyelids. "You're not going to lose me."

"They wanted you dead. Azura wants me dead. I just want-" his voice broke and he couldn't continue. He was trembling.

"We're safe, Florian. Come back." Ray hated when Florian slipped into the dark place where he'd gone after Morocco. It happened less often now, but it left them both shattered when it did.

"Make me feel you?" Florian asked, spreading his legs as an invitation. "I need to feel you."

Ray hesitated for a moment before nodding reluctantly. He'd drawn blood from Florian before - the first time Florian had made this request. It meant the man wanted it rough and with little preparation. Normally Florian hated rough sex, but when the dark place beckoned, he needed it. Ray never managed to refuse, although he was left a wreck afterwards.

The oil was lightly scented and sweet but they barely noticed as Ray slicked himself and pressed in. Florian tensed around him, unable to stop his reaction to the sudden invasion. Ray pressed harder and won, sinking in almost halfway. Florian left two fingernail stripes down Ray's back, his entire body arching.

"More," he begged desperately as Ray pulled back then slammed forward.

Florian gasped, wrapping his legs around Ray, trying to keep him deep inside. Ray pulled back and slammed forward again. Florian pressed his forehead against Ray's shoulder and held on for a very rough ride.

XXXXX

"You're not bleeding," Ray told Florian as he ran a damp cloth lightly across his body. The memory of that first time still turned his stomach.

"You didn't hurt me, Ray. Not more than I asked for."

"I wish you wouldn't ask." Ray tossed the cloth aside and lay down beside Florian, kissing him sweetly.

"I know, but we needed this, both of us." Florian ran his hand along Ray's jaw, then used one finger to trace his lips. "I love you, Ray. I'm sorry that makes me selfish."

"You're not," Ray insisted, kissing the tip of that exploring finger. "Just try to believe that I won't ever leave you willingly." Ray felt Florian shudder at the addition of that last word. They both knew how easy it would be for one of their adversaries to separate them permanently. All they could do was trust each other and hold on tight.

"I can't take you again," Ray said, shifting onto his back and pulling Florian along with him. "Would you?" It was extremely rare for Ray to make such a request and Florian couldn't help but agree.

"Let me love you, Ray," he whispered before shifting Ray onto his side. They always used this position when Florian took control; Ray had trouble relaxing in most other positions. So Florian stretched out beside him and used the oil to slowly ease Ray open. By the time he slid inside, Ray was willing and relaxed enough to accept the joining.

It was unhurried and sensual, with Florian touching Ray everywhere. When they finally slept, Ray remained cradled in Florian's embrace.

XXXXX


	2. Chapter 2

Perrin Renard stood, taking his time before he realized his companion had no intention of rising. He looked down at the man, forcing a smile. He could play at this game long enough to get what he wanted.

"It will be a pleasure to do business with you," Renard offered with false sincerity. Romwell merely looked at him, his one eye meeting Renard's gaze steadily. Renard tried not to show his amusement; this man actually thought himself superior. He'd learn the truth soon and then they would see who was really in control.

"I will see you here in three day's time," Renard repeated before nodding once and walking away. He snapped his fingers impatiently for his server to bring his coat and took some satisfaction in the way the man almost tripped over himself to do Renard's bidding.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he took out a cigar and held it, waiting for that fool to get back with his coat. As soon as he approached, Renard snatched the garment out of his hands and gestured for a light. It took two tries, earning the man another sneer. Regardless, Renard pressed a lavish tip at the server, knowing the staff would vie to wait on him the next time he visited.

It was a pleasant evening and Renard chose to walk the moderate distance to his home. It took him past Ray Courland's mansion and he paused a moment, lighting another cigar while he watched as that detective fellow and someone he didn't recognize emerged from the mansion. Courland's girl was at the door, but there was no sign of Courland himself, or of the pet.

Renard started walking again, a smile on his face. The alliance with Romwell was necessary but would be short-lived. In the end, Ray Balzac Courland would be his, and Romwell would return to Morocco, taking Florian du Rochefort with him.

XXXXX

The Romwells kept a lavish mansion in Paris, just as they kept similar homes throughout Europe. It was rare to have more than one member of the family in residence at any given time and they all preferred it that way. The Romwells had never been close, but they were loyal and protective of the family name.

John Romwell, Jr arrived in Paris without notice, bringing a small entourage to serve as liaisons to the servants in residence. As long as he received what he wanted in a timely manner and was not disturbed, he had no reason to discipline anyone.

Now, however, he was very aware of the whip coiled at his waist. His meeting with the contemptible Perrin Renard had left him coldly furious; who did that upstart think he was, plotting against Ray Courland. Clearly the idiot was unaware of the fact that Ray belonged to him.

He had been amused by Renard's generous offier of the boy, however. Azura idly wondered how quickly that superior smirk would have dropped from Renard's face had he known that Azura had already sampled Florian's charms.

It was annoying how much of his time was spent in dealing with fools and incompetents. Did Renard really think Azura of all people would need his help in taking what he wanted?

There was only one reason he was willing to continue this farce, and that was to provide Renard with a lesson that even he couldn't misunderstand. Let him play with Ray for a while. Let him believe he had won. It would only make his downfall more entertaining.

XXXXX

Ethan Kensington didn't believe in taking 'no' for an answer. When he wanted something, he expected to get it. He hadn't expected Ray Courland to immediately agree to return to the clan, so he was well prepared to be persuasive. No matter what his reputation as a predatory usurer, it was clear that Ray was a good and honorable man. Kensington just had to remind him of that fact.

The next step, he decided after some consideration, was to approach Ray's companion, Florian du Rochefort. Rumors about him were even less kind than what he'd heard about Courland – Parisian society loved a scandal, but didn't forgive those involved in one. Florian's association with Ray didn't help matters.

However, it was also clear that Florian was fiercely loyal to his friends, especially Ray and appealing to that loyalty would be the best way to approach him. But first, he needed to have another conversation with Detective Sugar.

XXXXX

Natalie Courland climbed into the carriage and cast a nervous glance back at her home. It was late and most of the windows were dark, except for a few in the servant's quarters. The house looked empty like this and she wondered if this was the last time she'd ever see it.

Her stomach fluttered nervously as she felt a hand on hers. Benjamin was warm and steady beside her, allowing her time to say her silent goodbyes to the life she was leaving. Neither of them had wanted this.

If only her parents had been willing to listen, If only they had understood that she couldn't face a lifetime with any of their odious "advantageous matches". She was a person, not a commodity to be bought or traded. She hated to think what would have happened if she hadn't overheard her brother's talking about her upcoming marriage.

It had been an ugly scene, something her mother detested, but Natalie wasn't sorry for anything she's said or done. She'd marched right into her father's study, her mother trailing her spouting ridiculous platitudes and after she'd thrown open the doors as dramatically as she could, she'd marched right up to that desk and demanded an honest answer.

Father had blustered, of course, but she'd finally pushed him hard enough to admit that he'd been making arrangements for her marriage. They'd shouted at each other in a most unseemly fashion, mother contributing her fair share before the whole thing had ended with Natalie sweeping everything off the desk and stalking out, shouting out one last refusal to ever marry that brute.

She'd continued right out of the mansion to the stables where she waved aside the nervous stable boy and prepared her own horse. She rode out just as father arrived with his valet and a handful of servants. She couldn't stop the sudden laughter, feeling unrestrained for the first time in ages.

Benjamin was understanding, as expected, and didn't even mind the impropriety of her dropping in unannounced, hair windblown and her horse tethered outside. He held her tightly and spoke calm reassurances until her heart stopped racing and she could tell him what had happened. She'd expected him to try and dissuade her but in the end he'd accepted that she was leaving Paris with or without him.

Fortunately, he was almost finished packing and had been planning to leave for Egypt at the end of the week. It took some rearranging, but he was able to move his departure up to the next morning, and arrange for a companion. There was just one more thing that had to be done, and neither he nor Natalie were happy about it.

"I know you don't like the idea, at least not yet, but we can't travel together without an escort unless we are married. It will draw too much attention."

Natalie shook her head and leaned in to kiss Benjamin lightly. She pulled back then took his hand in hers.

"I have no objection to marrying you some day," Natalie assured him. "Your customs are different from mine and I want to find a way to honor them both. It may not be proper, or socially acceptable for us to be together without marriage, but we simply don't have time."

"Then what do you suggest? If we stay here much longer you'll get your ceremony, but with your father's choice of groom."

"It's simple. Go to the jewelers and purchase rings. Once we are wearing them, no one will question whether we had a ceremony. We're leaving in the morning and are unlikely to meet anyone we know on our journey." Nataile couldn't hold back her impish smile. "If we present ourselves as husband and wife, who would have reason to think otherwise?"

Benjamin laughed fondly, shaking his head. Surely this was not the kind of woman his parents would have chosen for him, but she would be exactly the kind of wife he needed to support him when it was his time to lead his clan.

"Lead the way, if you would." He gestured grandly for Natalie to go first. "We might as well choose rings together too." Benjamin followed Natalie out, glancing around warily for her parents and feeling a mixture of surprise and relief when they didn't appear.

"Oh, don't worry about father," Natalie said in an undertone as she took his arm. "I may have bribed a few people to provide some misdirection. Father should be half-way out of the city by now."

Benjamin just laughed and assured her that he was very glad she was on his side.

XXXXX

Laila knocked lightly and waited for Ray's permission to enter. He was sitting by the fire reading a letter. She didn't see Florian.

"He's in the bath," Ray answered her unspoken question. He set the letter down beside two more piles and leaned back. He looked tired.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked, aching inside – at one time she wouldn't have had to ask. She was glad to see a grateful smile light Ray's face.

"You could help me read these. The handwriting is terrible, and most of it is nonsense, but I'm searching for any mention of Natalie Courland." Laila frowned, considering the name for moment before realizing who it was.

"You mother?"

"Yes, although it's possible there would be mention of father too. His name was-"

"Benjamin Thomas," Laila said, grinning. She took a seat and pulled one of the stacks of letters closer. She picked up the one on top and opened it, pausing before starting to read. "It's none of my business, but I always wondered why your mother kept her last name. They were married?" It was more of a statement than a question and she asked it cautiously, hoping not to offend.

"It depends on who you ask." Ray replied with a grin before picking up a letter and pointedly starting to read. Laila stared at him a moment before letting out a little 'hrrf' of annoyance and turning back to her task.

They'd read a half-dozen letters before Florian emerged, still damp and wearing one of Ray's old robes. He took a seat close to Ray and reached out for a letter without saying a word.

They read in silence for a while, a few letters getting placed on the "keep" pile and most being designated as "return to the attic". After a while, the silence grew heavy and Florian started blinking frequently. Ray looked equally ready to fall asleep so Laila finished scanning her current letter and suggested she bring up some dinner.

"Just leave a tray outside, Laila. I think I'll take a nap before eating." Ray gave her a gentle smile and added, "thank you."

She nodded and smiled back, taking a minute to tidy the letters and set the unhelpful ones aside. Florian was leaning sleepily against Ray, his eyes almost closed and Laila realized how rare it was for him to be this relaxed in her presence.

The thought made her smile even brighter as she headed towards the kitchen to prepare their tray. She sliced some freshly baked bread and added some cheese before going downstairs for a fresh jar of the jam Florian liked. The cream cakes were added along with some fruit and cold chicken.

She carried it upstairs and left it on the table outside their door, pausing only long enough to hear a loud snore. She laughed her way back to the kitchen where she ate her own supper while reading a good book.

XXXXX

Solomon couldn't sleep. His mind was too unsettled to rest and he finally got tired of staring at the ceiling. Setting the teakettle on the stove, he wandered randomly through his small apartment, not really seeing the familiar contents of his rooms. He wasn't a rich man and never would be, but he worked hard and was comfortable most of the time. He might have had to learn how to mend socks and make a passable soup, but he didn't really mind.

His thoughts drifted back to his former colleagues. He'd enjoyed being a policeman at first, and he'd made some good friends on the force, but as time passed and they worked their way up the ranks, some of those friendships had become strained.

Solomon had never been overly ambitious, but he loved a challenge as much as he loved solving puzzles. It made him a perfect fit for the job of detective, but it alienated him from those officers who were better suited to settling disputes or taming rowdy drunks.

When Solomon had been assigned the prestigious task of capturing the phantom thief Noir, he'd thought it was the opportunity of a lifetime. He remembered taking his beloved sister and her husband out to an elegant restaurant and telling them about his new assignment. They'd been almost as proud of him as he'd been of himself.

If he'd known, if he'd had any idea that that would be the last time he'd see his sister and brother-in-law alive, he would have gladly turned the case over to someone else.

But he hadn't, and instead he'd become somewhat obsessed with Noir. Between that obsession, and the pressure from his superiors to find Noir, it became easy to ignore his sister. Her calls and letters went unanswered, her invitations to dinner refused.

And then he ran out of chances. He was reassigned to a street patrol, and made the laughingstock of the precinct. If only his damnable pride hadn't kept him away from his sister... but he'd been humiliated and too stubborn to face her, although he knew she wouldn't be unkind, and then it was too late.

The Black Hand slaughtered her and her husband, murdered them in their own home, and Solomon found himself with no family, no real job and a no purpose beyond vengeance. He's done things in those dark times that he still didn't like to think about. In the end, the very thing that started his downfall, was the thing that saved him.

Solomon was almost eking out a living as a detective and making a little cash on the side in some questionable endeavors. He'd agreed to be the lookout for a pair of men who wanted to reclaim some of their property from a wealthy merchant who'd demanded the items as collateral and then refused to give those items back when the bill was paid.

The men were hiding in the bushes near the merchant's study when a slim, caped figure appeared at their side and pressed a heavy sack into Solomon's hands.

"This is what you came for," the stranger growled before adding, "Now go before the police arrive. Idiots." A sweep of his cape and he was gone. A moment later there was the sound of people approaching and the clatter of nightsticks. Solomon grabbed his associates and fled.

They were eight blocks away in an abandoned apartment before they checked the sack. It contained their belongings as promised.

The next morning Solomon wasn't surprised to read the newspaper headline announcing another daring robbery by the phantom thief Noir.

He thought about that night often in the weeks afterward, wondering how Noir had known what they were after, and whether his muttered, "idiots" was in reference to Solomon and his associates or the police. Now he knew Ray well enough to know he'd meant both.

Solomon hadn't realized it at the time, but that night marked a change in his fortune. He started getting more work as a detective – mostly small things, but enough to keep himself fed and clothed and keep a roof over his head.

And then he'd followed a lead to Morocco, and his live had turned around completely. He hadn't gotten the revenge that had driven him for so long, but he had gained friends and rediscovered himself.

His association with Ray was a complicated one – everything with Ray was complicated. But he was a good man, as was Florian, and every last one of Ray's misfit household was loyal to a fault.

Solomon shook his head ruefully, realizing the kettle was ready and he hadn't even noticed. He fixed himself some tea with a bit of honey – a habit for which he blamed Florian – and settled at the table.

He closed his eyes and let the cup warm his hands, thinking idly about his day. Ray had been clear that he wasn't interested in reclaiming his position as clan leader, but that Kensington fellow didn't seem the type to give up so easily. No, in fact, he seemed very determined.

Solomon stat up quickly, thinking hard. He reviewed the conversation he'd had with Kensington in the café, and the one they'd had later with Ray.

"Two different stories," Solomon muttered into his tea. In the café, Kensington had made it sound as if the man who had killed Ray's father was still in charge of the clan. But when he'd been talking to Ray, trying to persuade him, he'd said that the man was dead and someone loyal to Ray was temporarily in charge. Why two different versions of the story?

Solomon set the tea down and glanced out the window, guessing the time. It was early, but not so early that he couldn't take a stroll past Ethan Kensington's accommodations.

XXXXX

Ray was sleeping soundly, a rare enough occurrence that Florian didn't want to risk disturbing him by getting out of bed. The curtains let in just enough light to determine that it was early and Florian knew there was nothing on Ray's schedule that would require him to be up soon.

Florian shifted little closer but resisted the temptation to press up against Ray's warm back. He'd had a nightmare, although thankfully it hadn't been the kind where he woke up screaming. It had left his body trembling and his mind racing, but it hadn't been had enough to wake Ray, and Florian considered that a bit of good fortune.

He let his mind drift, trying not to settle on anything for too long. He knew there were things Ray had to consider, things that he hoped Ray would discuss with him, but for now he needed to calm himself.

The nightmare had been about Morocco, like most of his nightmares were. He'd been walking through the market, his mind hazy and actions dulled by opium. The smell was all around him, sickly sweet and treacherous. He'd been compelled to follow the aroma until it led him to a warm room holding nothing but a large bed. In the nightmare, his clothes had been torn away by invisible hands, but they hadn't stopped when he was naked. The hands had continued to pull at him, gripping flesh in the absence of cloth, and tearing just as easily.

He pulled in a ragged breath and held it, counting slowly and deliberately to chase away the remnants of the nightmare. He would not give in to this.

Shifting again, he winced at a sudden twinge. He'd pushed Ray last night, urged him to be rough, and he knew that there would be a little awkwardness for a few days because of it. Ray could be cruel with words, but he hadn't been intentionally cruel in his actions for a very long time.

The first time they'd played too rough, Ray had been devastated. He'd avoided all but minimal contact with Florian for days afterwards, and they'd ended up having a terrible fight. Fortunately Laila had intervened, shouting at them both and telling them how foolish they were.

They'd been more careful after that, more aware of what they were doing - of what they were asking of each other when they needed to be rough. It had worked out well, but it always left behind a bit of uneasiness.

It wasn't self-doubt, Florian told himself, it was just reasonable self-preservation - a way of second-guessing himself. It was perfectly natural, as was Florian's desire to push Ray, and himself, to experience a little of the illicit thrill that Noir savored.

Nothing to fret about, he told himself, He closed his eyes deliberately and recited rhymes until he finally fell asleep.

XXXX

"There's breakfast on the table and Solomon in the parlor," Laila told Ray when he finally came downstairs. It was well past his usual breakfast time, and he was ravenous.

"Send him in and bring him a plate," Ray commanded as he speared a sausage. He was busy chewing when Solomon joined him.

"No Florian this morning?"

"He'll be down soon," Ray replied. "So if there's anything he might not need to hear..."

"Solomon will tell me anyway," Florian completed the sentence, smiling brightly as he settled into the well-padded chair with only a slight wince. He was wearing robes instead of his usual suit, another indicator that he was sore from the previous night's activities.

"Of course I will, seeing as it concerns you too." Solomon set his fork down and took a drink of coffee. It was always strong and dark at Ray's, which is why Florian usually drank tea. Solomon noticed that today was the exception - Florian poured himself a full cup of the dark brew and drank half of it in one go.

"I had a conversation with Ethan Kensington before agreeing to accompany him to your house. He told me that the man who killed your father was still head of the clan. Later, he told you that the man had been killed and one of your father's advisers was ruling the clan in your absence. Why would he lie?"

"That is an excellent question, Solomon. Ray leaned back in his seat, a half-eaten sausage link skewered on the fork still in his hand. He sat, thinking for long minutes, then leaned forward and bit the sausage off the fork. He started speaking before he finished chewing. "I believe we should pay Mr. Kensington a visit."

"What about the letters?" Florian asked. He was torn between wanting to go with Ray and wanting to stay and read through the rest of the letters.

"Stay here and finish them. I'll ask Michel to meet us at the cafe for lunch - the one with those scones you like." Ray made it a joke, but Florian knew it was an apology. He appreciated the gesture, even if he didn't think it was necessary.

"Finish up," Ray chided Solomon, giving him a devilish grin. "We can't waste all morning watching you eat."

Solomon eyed the last of the sausage link on his plate, then set it down and cut it with slow, deliberate movements. He ate one tiny piece at a time, completely ignoring Ray's irritation. On the other side of the table, Florian hid his laughter behind a napkin.

When his plate was clear, Solomon rose and said goodbye to Florian, stepping out into the hall to give Ray a moment with his companion. There were soft whispers, and a suspicious silence before Ray joined him, his eyes bright and a smile on his lips.

XXXXX

"This arrived yesterday," Laila announced, setting an envelope on Florian's desk along with a vase containing a single rose.

"The flower is lovely, but what's the occasion?" Florian leaned in to smell the deep red bloom.

"I told you," Laila said impatiently, "it arrived yesterday. It was delivered with the invitation." She reached over and tapped the envelope, drawing his attention to the elegant, handwritten address.

"Count Ray Balzac Courland and companion." Florian read, frowning absently as he picked up the invitation and turned it over, noting there was no seal or marking on the back. He used the letter opener to slit the top of the envelope and extracted the heavy dove grey card.

"The party is tonight," Florian told Laila needlessly – she had moved to the side and was reading over his shoulder. "He's included a personal note asking Ray to attend." Florian set the card down and looked up at her. "Do you know anything about Perrin Renard? I don't believe I've met him."

"I don't remember Ray mentioning him, so he must not have any interesting jewelry." Laila laughed at the expression on Florian's face as she breezed out of the room, calling over her shoulder: "I'll check the books."

Florian laughed, always surprised at how enthusiastic Laila was about research. Ray had an extensive set of volumes featuring the "who's who" of both French and European elite. It provided brief biographies, family information and even pictures when available. What the books didn't provide were the details that Laila somehow managed to extract from an eclectic array of sources. He had no doubt her file on him – and he knew she had one – was both thorough and potentially embarrassing.

Shifting carefully in his chair, Florian set the invitation aside, tempted to just send the regrets now and be done with it – Ray seldom attended parties when he didn't know the host. Still, he supposed it was better to wait; Ray took a great deal of enjoyment from giving Florian orders, and Florian liked to indulge him.

The letters that had been read and determined to be unhelpful had been carefully bundled and returned to their box. Taking one of the bundles of unread letters, Florian sorted them by recipient, leaving Michel's mother's letters for last.

They'd been working through the letters chronologically and the current stack would have been written when Natalie was a child. Perhaps it has been foolish to search so broadly, but Florian was secretly hoping that it would give Ray the opportunity to learn more about his mother and her family. He had strained relationships with most of his relatives, only Michel and his parents seemed to accept Ray.

Florian and his mother hadn't been in Paris when Ray arrived; they'd been staying with a distant relative. They'd taken a number of extended stays with friends and relatives throughout the years and it was only at the end, when invitations were less frequent and stays shorter that he realized they'd been conserving their own finances by living off of others. It made him sad to think that his mother had had to lie to him all those years.

Florian blinked down at the letter he was holding. He hoped that, no matter what Ray learned of his mother and father, it wouldn't hurt him.

XXXXX

Ray and Solomon arrived at the café three minutes early and ordered tea for the table. Florian joined them precisely on time, and Michel was eleven minutes late and full of joking excuses. They settled in and talked while waiting for their food, making a point to save their conversation about Ethan Kensington until after they'd been served.

"There are two bundles of letters waiting to be read," Florian replied when Ray asked how his morning had gone. "I set aside a few for you to look at later and put the rest in the box to be returned to Michel."

"And I'm afraid your task isn't as close to completion as you think. I checked a few more places and found more letters, as well as some diaries and journals. I had one of my servants deliver them to your house, Ray."

"Thank you. It may be a few days before we can return them. I'm afraid Solomon and I weren't able to speak with Ethan Kensington." The way Ray emphasized the word 'speak' made it clear that they had had some kind of contact with the man.

"He wasn't in when we arrived at his hotel, but the clerk was kind enough to provide us with Kensington's room number." Solomon had switched to the more formal way of talking he used when he was in detective mode. "We used the time to familiarize ourselves with the area."

"In other words, you tripped the lock—"

"Convinced a maid to let us is." Ray corrected.

"Of course," Michel said, stopping just short of laughing outright. "And then you familiarized yourselves with the contents of Kensington's rooms." He shook his head. "Perfectly reasonable."

"We simply availed ourselves of the hospitality Kensington would have offered had he been there," Ray said as if he was merely stating the obvious. "We had to do something to amuse ourselves since there wasn't anything interesting among his possessions."

"Tell me you didn't order room service," Florian demanded eyes bright with amusement; that's exactly the kind of thing Ray would do.

"Just coffee and some pastries," Ray told him. "So you can stop eyeing my scone."

"I have every right to look at it since you'll be adding this lunch to my debt, just like you always do."

Ray gave him a devilish grin and patted his shirt pocket. He carried the current record of Florian's debt everywhere and took every opportunity to add to the total. They'd long since stopped thinking of it as something Florian would ever have to repay, but Ray still enjoyed teasing him with it.

Solomon and Michel ignored the familiar banter and turned the conversation to other topics. It was towards the end of the meal that Florian remembered to ask, "Do any of you know Perrin Renard? Ray and I received an invitation to his party this evening."

"I haven't met him, but I'm rarely in town for more than a few weeks." Michel said. Solomon just shook his head to indicate that he'd never heard of Renard either. In his case it wasn't surprising, Solomon wasn't in the social circles to receive invitations to exclusive parties.

The conversation shifted to Michel's plans for the rest of his stay in Paris, and ranged far and wide before Florian realized the time.

"Forgive me, gentlemen, but I have letters to read." He looked at Ray and added, "I'll send Monsieur Renard our regrets." Ray agreed and watched as Florian left before turning back to Michel and Solomon.

"I'll do some research on our Mr. Kensington," Solomon offered, nodding once before following Florian out.

"Well then," Michel set his napkin aside and stood up, reaching into his jacket pocket for his cigar case. He offered Ray one before choosing his own. Ray offered a light and they smoked in companionable silence as they left the café. Michel had gotten a ride from his servant, so he gladly accepted Ray's offer of transport back to his house.

Ray liked to drive fast and somewhat recklessly so there wasn't much conversation, just Michel's shouted instructions to: watch out! He was rubber-legged and determined to never ride with Ray again by the time the car stopped in front of Michel's house.

XXXXX

Perrin Renard was a very happy man. He approached the carriage from the side door, waving the servant aside to look inside at the unconscious man tied up and lying on the floor. His hair was rumpled and his face half-hidden, but Perrin could see how someone with an undiscerning eye could see a slight resemblance.

He stepped back and motioned for one of his men to take the new arrival inside. Renard had had a room specially prepared for the occasion.

"First move to me, Ray Courland," he said, speaking to no one in particular. He'd have to stop by the chess room later to update the board.

XXXXXX

Laila leaned against the elaborate wrought iron fence and pretended to remove a pebble from her shoe. She had a good view of the side of the mansion from here and that seemed to be where the action was taking place. She'd exhausted her usual sources of information and had found just enough about Perrin Renard to be concerned.

It would have been suspicious but not unheard of to have a young aristocrat emerge from obscurity. Some families had a reason to keep their children away from the temptations of Parisian society and perhaps that was the case with Renard, but Laila's instinct told her otherwise.

She pressed back against a convenient tree and watched as a closed carriage entered through the mansion's gate and up to the side entrance where three men had been waiting restlessly. A tall, broad shouldered blond man emerged from the house and looked into the carriage before giving out an order Laila couldn't hear. One of the men leaned into the carriage and came out carrying what appeared to be an unconscious person. Laila was too far away to catch more than a glimpse before the person was taken into the house and the door closed behind them.

Without hesitation, she turned and walked quickly towards home, Laila wasn't sure what she had just witnessed, but she had a feeling that, whatever it was, it wasn't good.

XXXX

Natalie Courland loved the ocean. She leaned as far over the edge of the ship as she was able and let the wind pull at her hair. She'd left it long, grateful to be free of the pins and curls. This was so much better, so much freer.

Benjamin was resting on a deck chair, his attention on her rather than the novel in his hand. She'd been a terrible influence on him since they'd come onboard, luring him away from his studies and keeping him on deck late into the evening.

He'd finished his studies in Paris but had more work to do in Egypt. He was a conscientious student and she knew she'd have far less of his attention once they arrived and settled into their new apartment.

She'd read about Egypt, and a few of her parents' friends had been there, but she couldn't quite imagine what it would be like to live there. She knew her ideas were closer to romantic fantasies and that daily life wouldn't be all exotic meals and gorgeous sunsets, but she was willing to take whatever Egypt would offer.

She had worn riding pants so she knew how different it was to dress without the ground-sweeping layers of silk and lace that she was used to. She'd had to find more practical ways to bind her hair and more modest makeup. She didn't want to look liked a misplaced socialite, she wanted to look like a smart and competent wife.

The thought of that word caused her to glance down at the rings on her finger. It wasn't a large diamond, but it was pretty and the gold bands were a nice contrast against her skin. She had never been porcelain pale, despite her mother's best efforts. Natalie loved being outside too much to remain indoors hunched over needlepoint. She was terrible at that kind of thing anyway, always getting knots in her threads or putting stitches in the wrong places. She could mend a seam or darn a sock and that should be good enough.

She snuck another glance at Benjamin and gave in to one of the things that did worry her; she was a terrible cook. Mama had had the cook give her the same lessons that her friends had been given, but while they were bragging over roasts and rich sauces, she was scraping charred bits off the main course and trying to press lumps out of the gravy.

She'd never been overly concerned, confident that her household would have a cook, but now she wasn't so sure. Perhaps she'd be able to hire a local girl to help, at least until she learned how to work the stove.

She signed and tilted her head back, casting her gaze upwards into the cloudless sky. As long as she didn't poison them both, they'd be fine.

XXXXX

Laila was out when Ray returned, so he retired to his study to catch up on his daily tasks. There was a lot of bookkeeping in the usury business and he preferred to handle it himself when possible. He knew that Florian, Laila, or even Jacques would take on the duty without complaint, and each of them had at one time or another, but Ray liked the ritual of it, the way that columns of numbers represented financial stability the same way the architectural columns in the ballroom represented structural stability for the house.

When the books were complete and returned to the locked drawer in his desk, he sorted the pile of mail he picked up from the table in the foyer. There was nothing much of interest, so he set it aside to give to Florian later and took out a hand-drawn map. He frowned at the addition of a squirrel to the tree near the side entrance and what might be a cluster of daisies along the patio in the back. He'd be tempted to blame Florian for these little bits of whimsy on the plans for Noir's next acquisition, but he recognized Laila's drawing style. She and Florian were definitely spending too much time together.

On one hand, having Laila and Florian so friendly was a something to encourage, especially given their rough start when Florian first joined the household. On the other hand, those two had teamed up against him enough over the past three years that Ray had learned to be cautious. They managed to find the most ridiculous things to argue about, and every six months or so there was an epic battle that had Laila and Florian refusing to speak to each other. Ray might not mind the silence if it didn't become his obligation to settle their disagreement.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised to discover that Florian, for all of his formal manners and strict upbringing, was a fair match for Laila, who had survived on the streets in Casablanca and knew how to be quick and cunning. Ray would never admit it, but he'd learned a few tricks from both of them. Not that he didn't have plenty of tricks of his own…

He focused his attention on a large tree in the drawing. It was at the back of the hotel, away from the street and likely to be poorly lit. The nearest entrance was a few paces away, and the tree was as tall as the three-story hotel meaning it could provide a quick exit if necessary.

He traced the planned route lightly, picturing the buildings he'd see along the way as well as the streets and alleys he might need to use for alternate routes. He felt the slight thrum of excitement that always accompanied a mission as Noir; that mixture of excitement, daring and satisfaction that came from being smarter, faster and more daring than the people who had been sneering at him since his aunt and uncle brought him to Paris all those years ago. Acquiring beautiful jewelry was just the icing on top.

XXXXX

"…I've severed as many ties as possible to that traitorous woman and her family. To think that a woman I once called friend has plotted against me and my husband like this, to think that she actually assisted Natalie in her flight from her family and her home. It will be a dark day before Helene du Rochefort or any member of her family is welcome in my home again!"

Florian held the letter tightly, staring at the tight script until it blurred into meaningless patterns of ink on paper. The letter was written by Elaine Courlard, Ray's grandmother and addressed to Marie Courland, Ray's aunt. He wondered if similar letters had been sent to the other aunts, the two that preferred not to have anything to do with Ray. Reading this, he wondered if it was part of the reason they had been so cold and unwelcoming when Ray had arrived in Paris.

Florian also wondered if this letter, and whatever actions his own mother had undertaken to help Natalie Courland and her lover flee the city, were part of the reason why their peers had been so unwilling to help them at the end. Why mother had been reduced to selling family heirlooms in order to put food on the table. Perhaps that was why she had been so unwavering in her determination so show that she and Florian were still strong.

This one paragraph, just a handful of words, opened up so many possibilities, provided so many explanations that Florian had never even considered. There was no date on the letter but obviously it was written before Ray was born. It might have even been before Florian was born.

He set the letter down precisely in the center of his desk and leaned back, letting his gaze unfocus and his thoughts drift. He knew so little about his parents. Of course he'd heard stories about their childhoods – the kinds of cute, occasionally embarrassing anecdotes that every older relative liked to share – but he'd heard almost nothing about them when they were older. Nothing about their meeting, their courtship, or even the early days of marriage.

It wasn't that Florian had never asked, it was that his mother had rarely answered. He knew she'd loved his father deeply and that his death had not just left her to raise a child and manage a household alone, it had changed her.

Florian's maternal grandmother was the one who'd shared most of the stories with him, letting him snuggle up against her on the divan or in bed. She'd been confined to a wheelchair, since before he was born, but she'd laughed easily and delighted in hearing about young Florian's adventures in the garden or while chasing stray cats. He'd had an outlandish imagination then, telling her about jungle adventures and fighting pirates, and she'd laughed and encouraged him, wanting to know what sounds the jungle animals made and how the adventurer swung on vines.

Mother often scolded him for being so unruly around her, but Grandmother just laughed and told her to let down her hair and relax. The phrase had puzzled Florian at the time because Mother only let her hair down before she went to sleep at night. He'd been a teenager before he understood the real meaning of the phrase, and by then Grandmother had been gone for years.

Florian reached out and touched the edge of the letter, his eyes scanning that paragraph as he pictured his mother, his strict, demanding mother, as someone who would go against societal conventions to help a young woman in love escape from a forced marriage. Perhaps they had been friends, even confidants. It was such an unexpected, impractical, impossibly romantic thing to do…

The laughter started before he even knew it was coming. To his own ears it was too fast, just a bit too high-pitched; what would it sound like to someone listening in? Well, it wouldn't be the first time someone thought he'd gone crazy.

They'd thought his mother was crazy, too, there had plenty of those kinds of rumors over the years. Some said she'd gone mad from tending to her feeble husband for so long, others said it was the shock of his death, and some cruel souls had said it was the result of her selfishness, a punishment for turning away all suitors.

Florian's laughter faded. He wiped his eyes and dried his hands on his pants. Mother never let the rumors stop her, she'd just kept doing her best to run her household and provide for her child. Only when she'd exhausted all of her other options, did she seek help from the son of the woman who owed her a great debt. And even then, she hadn't demanded repayment.

Florian picked up the letter and placed it back inside its envelope. If he had known this. If Ray had known this…How very different things might have been.

XXXXX

Solomon was distracted. His mind was working furiously, trying to make sense of the information he had discovered and he wasn't paying much attention to his feet. He'd nearly stepped off the street into the path of a fast-moving carriage when someone caught his arm and pulled him back.

"Careful," Laila hissed at him while waving an apology to the driver. "What's got you so distracted?"

"Just gathering some information for a friend," he suspected she already knew the answer.

"That's interesting. I was doing the same thing." She linked her arm with his and started to lead him towards Ray's, the very place he had intended to go.

"Perhaps we can help each other with this information?"

"I don't see why not," she assured him, pulling his arm hard to steer him left instead of right. "You don't mind if we run a small errand first, do you?" She pulled an envelope out of her pocket and waved it at him. It's not far."

She stopped at the gate to Perrin Renard's mansion and let go of Solomon's arm. "Wait here, I won't be long." She was off before he could protest, leaving Solomon to fade back against a tree to watch.

Laila was wearing her one of her usual outfits – a shirt and vest paired with short pants. She looked like an exotic young boy as she hurried up to the front door of the mansion and waited for someone to answer her knock. When they did, she presented her envelope with a flourish that she must have learned from Ray before accepting a gratuity. She gave a small bow and retreated at the moderate pace of a servant in no real hurry to get back to work.

She stepped through the gate and gave a small signal for Solomon to wait a minute then follow her to Ray's. He waited twice that long before slipping onto the sidewalk behind a pair of businessmen out for a stroll. He remained behind them until the next corner when he slipped past with hasty apologies and found Laila walking slowly obviously waiting for him.

"I hope you friend isn't too disappointed, I don't have much information for him today," Solomon confessed after they'd walked in silence for a few minutes. He couldn't help but notice Laila's small smile.

"I wouldn't worry too much. We definitely learned one thing about Monsieur Renard." She reached into her pocket and showed him what had to be the tip she'd received for delivering Ray's regrets. She slipped the small coin back into her pocket and said, "he's a lousy tipper."

XXXXX

"I'm disappointed in you Laurence."

"Ye.. yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." Laurence stammered out his apology, trying not to move from the spot where he'd been told to stand. He kept his hands properly at his sides no matter how much he wanted to clasp them.

The figure at the window didn't move or speak for a very long time. Every second that passed made Laurence more sure he was going to faint. He was having trouble breathing and he could feel himself sweating.

"Calm yourself, you sound like a freight train." The figure finally turned, the late afternoon light from the window casting a halo around him that only made his one eye look more sinister. He took measured steps towards Laurence and it took everything the man had not to run from the room screaming in terror. He hadn't worked for Azura long, but he'd heard plenty of stories.

"I gave you a simple task, Laurence." Azura reached out and straightened the man's tie, touching him casually, without a hit of consideration for personal boundaries. "I want to know everything there is to know about Perrin Renard. Surely that's not too much to ask?"

"No, sir. I mean yes, sir. I mean..."

"I believe we are both clear, Laurence. You will return to me in 24 hours precisely and you will tell me everything I want to know about Renard." The tie was drawn tighter so, so slowly. "You will not disappoint me again."

"No! No, sir. I won't disappoint you," Laurence was gasping, between nerves and the overly tight tie he could barely breathe.

Azura stepped back, letting go of the tie, but not loosening it. He gestured for Laurence to leave and didn't bother to watch him go.

XXXXX

Michel Courland stepped down from his carriage and turned to have a word with his driver. The man nodded and ordered the horses forward while Michel joined the rest of the arriving guests in climbing the stairs to Perrin Renard's house.

He had no real interest in attending what promised to be a tiresome evening of excess. One look at the opulent foyer and Michel knew the rest of the house was going to be a nightmare; how much marble and gilt did one room need?

"Count Courland," Perrin held out his hand in greeting. "Such a pleasure to have you join us this evening."

"The pleasure is mine," Michel replied, putting on his most charming manner. He was used to these kinds of events; they held balls regularly on his luxury ships.

"I understand you have just returned from a long voyage." Perrin snapped his fingers and a servant immediately appeared carrying a tray with two flutes of champagne. He picked then both up and handed one to Michel. "A toast to your return. I trust you had an enjoyable trip?"

"I did indeed, but I am glad to be back in Paris. This will always be my home."

"The soul of a traveler, the heart of a Parisian." Perrin took a drink of his champagne.

"A blessing and a curse," Michel agreed cheerfully. "Is it the same for you, then?"

"You could say that, although I am sad to say it is not Paris that has my heart."

"Where do your affections lie? I'm always looking for new adventures."

"I'm afraid my answer would be a disappointment. Surely you have your choice of exotic locals to choose from. I understand you were in Casablanca recently."

"I was. Lovely place. My cousin keeps a home there and I impose as often as possible." Michel drained his glass and placed it on the tray that was waiting nearby. As soon as his hand left the glass the servant whisked the tray away.

"Your cousin? That wouldn't be the elusive Ray Balzac would it? I had hoped he'd be able to attend this evening."

"Don't take it personally," Michel insisted, "Ray hates these kinds of affairs. He'd rather stay at home and read if you can imagine it. He and his companions are quite dull."

"Pity," Perrin said, his expression thoughtful. He studied Michel for a moment, then gave him a false smile and excused himself. Michel waved him off while signaling for another drink. It was only after he had a glass in hand that he slipped quietly to the side of the room, drinking slowly and keeping a watchful eye on his host.

XXXXX

"You're sure you've never met him?" Solomon asked again looking first at Ray and then at Florian.

"I'd never heard of the man until this week. I'm not at the top of every socialite's must-invite list, despite my sterling reputation and irresistible charm." Ray maintained his bland smile despite Laila's indelicate snort and Florian's muffled snicker. Solomon merely raised his eyebrow and nodded.

"I don't believe I've met him either," Florian added, resting his hand on Ray's arm as an apology. "Although it is difficult to remember everyone who attends each party. Perhaps if I see him, I'll know for certain."

No one bothered to point out that Florian hadn't been very involved in the social circuit for the last few years. He and Ray attended parties and dinners hosted by trusted acquaintances or business associates, and they occasionally visited the theatre, but between traveling and their somewhat disreputable standing, there were many functions they missed.

"I couldn't find a picture, although I didn't have time to check the newspaper archives." Laila admitted. "I do know that he's in his mid-twenties, has long blond hair and he's tall." She nodded at Florian who was touching his own hair. "The same color, or close at least. I was also able to confirm that he inherited the mansion here in Paris, and that he's lived most of his life in Italy but has had extended stays in the United States."

"Apparently he attended university there," Solomon added, "Although I wasn't able to confirm that. The postal clerk I spoke to said that Renard's valet had mentioned something about it once when he was picking up a package for Renard."

"The girl I talked to said Renard's got a thing for Egypt – has a whole room of artifacts. She also said that he's a nasty one, charming one minute and ready to put a knife in you the next. Said she was glad to be out of there and working for a good French family now." Laila frowned before adding. "She had a bruise on her arm - fingermarks. She said he'd done that to her when she accidentally knocked over one of his artifacts although she insisted that it didn't break."

"I've heard he's charming, but that he makes people nervous, and he doesn't like to be defied in any way," Solomon continued. "The green grocer said Renard's scullery maid nearly burst into tears because he didn't have strawberries. She said Renard wanted them and would be angry if she didn't bring any home. She was in such a state the grocer didn't want to let her go, but she insisted."

"Not exactly comforting," Ray said, tapping his fingers absently on his knee. Florian caught his hand and twined their fingers together to calm him, but Florian looked equally upset.

"The real question is: what is his interest in you, Ray? He's been making discreet inquiries about you and Florian." Solomon frowned, considering something before adding, "I don't believe this is a coincidence. The sudden arrival, and equally sudden disappearance of Ethan Kensington and the invitation from Renard. If I had to guess, I'd say the common thread here is Egypt."

"Why? Kensington wanted Ray to go to Arabia to reclaim his clan." Florian turned to look at Ray. "Just because collects Egyptian artifacts doesn't mean he has a connection with Kensington."

"No, it doesn't," Ray agreed, "but there's another connection to Egypt here. You've been reading the letters about my parents. They spent several years in Egypt."

"Yes, while your father attended the university, but how does that connect to Kensington or Renard? And why did Kensington disappear?"

"I checked his room this afternoon," Solomon offered. "It doesn't appear that he's been back. But I looked more closely at his belongings. His return transport ended in Egypt."

"He probably planned to make arrangements for the rest of the trip later," Laila pointed out. "In case there were any delays, or because he didn't know how many people would be traveling with him."

"True," Solomon conceded. "But none of that explains why he would disappear now, if getting Ray back to Arabia was so important."

An uneasy silence fell of the group as they looked at each other, frustrated by the numbers of questions without answers.

"Perhaps Michel will learn something useful at Renard's party tonight," Florian offered. The others could only nod their heads in agreement.

XXXXX

Natalie loved Egypt. She'd been a little overwhelmed at first, adjusting to so many new things at once, but now she couldn't imagine returning to Paris. Benjamin had been wonderful, making sure she had what she needed for the day before going to the university. At night they'd take rambling walks through their new neighborhood, learning the path to the shops and restaurants.

They were renting a little house just a short walk from Benjamin's school and there were plenty of other students and their families nearby. Natalie had been intimidated at first – there were women scholars here that made her feel silly and uninformed – but she soon discovered her place among them and looked forward to seeing them almost as much as seeing her husband.

They'd been there just over a month when one of the women asked Natalie to accompany them on an outing. She'd thought she was agreeing to a picnic. Instead, she got pyramids.

For the second time in her life, Natalie Courland fell in love.

XXXXX

Florian was curled up against Ray, sitting so close he was practically in Ray's lap. They were both silent, absorbing everything they had heard from Laila and Solomon. There were still letters and journals to be read, and they did have other matters to attend too as well, but for now they just needed to be together.

There were times, when their emotions were high and everything seemed to be pressing in on them, that they took comfort in pushing themselves and each other past their safety zones. It wasn't something most people would understand. Even Laila didn't understand, no matter how she tried.

They knew it upset her when she found a few drops of blood on the bed sheets or saw that some of her healing salves had disappeared from the shelves. Ray had tried talking to her about it, but she just shook her head, tears shining in her eyes, and walked away. Ray had had to go after her, catching her hand and pulling her back into his study where he simply told her that it was something she would have to accept, and if she couldn't, to let him know now, before it caused a rift between them. She did cry then, and although Ray held her, it brought her no comfort.

"Are you lost?" Florian asked quietly, reaching up to brush Ray's hair back away from his shoulder. He let his hand linger for a moment before sliding down Ray's back.

"Not lost, just thinking." He turned his head and pressed a kiss against the first part of Florian he could reach. "I wish you weren't still sore."

"I know, but that's not the only way we can be together." Florian shifted so that his eyes fully met Ray's. "What do you need?"

"Not that. Not tonight. I'm not… lost." He gave Florian a soft smile. "I just want to be with you."

"You can. Anyway you want." Florian kissed him softly, then pulled back, looking at him as if searching for something. "You're worried."

"I am, but I don't know why. There's no reason, nothing—"

"There doesn't always have to be a reason, at least not one we understand. Sometimes we just feel a certain way because we do." Florian took Ray's left hand in his and squeezed it gently. "I'm not telling you anything you don't know, but I need to say it." He lifted the hand to his lips. Without breaking contact he said, "I love you."

"I—" Ray trailed off, unable to say the words. His chest was tight. How did Florian manage it so easily when Ray found it such a struggle? He freed his hands and grabbed Florian's head, bringing their lips together urgently, almost violently.

Florian responded, wrapping his arms around Ray and holding him, not pulling him closer or pushing him away, not trying to control anything; just holding. The tension in Ray's chest slowly began to ease.

"Come upstairs?" Florian asked softly after a long, comfortable silence. Ray pulled back, out of his embrace, and stood, reaching out his hand to Florian and waiting for him to take it. When he did, Ray pulled him to his feet gently and led him up the stairs and into their rooms. He released Florian long enough to light an oil lamp, smiling when Florian waited at his side.

Leaving the low-burning lamp on the table, he took Florian's hand again and led him to the bed. Shadows cast patterns across the walls but neither man paid them any attention. They undressed each other slowly, before Ray pulled Florian close again. In the silence, they could listen to each other breathing, and focus on their steadily beating hearts. Florian lowered his head, resting it against Ray's shoulder and closing his eyes as Ray's warmth surrounded him. Right now he didn't need any more than this.

Ray seemed to feel the same way. It was unusual for him to remain still and silent for so long. Florian knew he could do it; Ray had learned how to be invisible out of necessity, growing up on the streets of Morocco. Florian stopped that thought quickly. Morocco was too big a thing to allow between them tonight. It needed to stay outside, beyond their bedroom doors; they would deal with it in the morning.

Still silent, Ray shifted so that he could sweep Florian up into his arms, do a half-turn and place him on the bed.

"Let me take care of you," Ray urged, sitting on the bed beside Florian and reaching out for the massage oil Florian liked. Florian relaxed, spreading his arms and legs a little to make his body more accessible. He smiled at Ray, his eyes bright and trusting as the oil was drizzled onto his chest.

After three years together, and nearly two as lovers, they knew each other's bodies well. Ray could close his eyes and trace Florian's every curve and contour without hesitation. There was the tiny scar on his hip, the slight rough patch on his arm and the sharp jut of his collarbone. Ray checked each one off his mental list as he worked.

Beneath his hands, Ray could feel the tension leaning Florian's body. He was intriguingly compliant like this and Ray sometimes took advantage of that, but not tonight. Tonight was about comfort and pleasure.

He poured a line of oil from Florian's groin down to his left knee, and another down to his right knee, clamping down his own reaction when Florian hardened. Ray would take care of that soon enough.

Florian made little "mmm" sounds and shifted as Ray set to work on his legs. He worked at loosening the muscles until Florian was almost purring. Only then did Ray bring his attention back to Florian's erection.

Adding more oil to his hands, Ray slid them up along Florian's penis stopping just before the head. He stroked down just as slowly, repeating the action until Florian couldn't remain still any longer. He shifted and pressed up against Ray's hands, wanting more. Ray pressed him down firmly but gently and held him there until, without warning, he leaned down and swallowed the head.

Beneath his hands Ray could feel Florian go rigid. Let go, Ray urged silently as he sucked gently. Let go. Trust me. He lifted his hand from where it has been pressed flat against Florian's hip and reached out for Florian's hand. Florian reached back and just as their hands entwined, Florian came.

Ray didn't swallow often, but this time he took every drop and licked Florian clean afterwards, using long, lazy strokes of his tongue while Florian whimpered beneath him and tried to remain still.

Feeling a little smug, Ray gave Florian one last lick then slid up his body to kiss him deeply. Florian's hands tangled in Ray's hair, pulling him down for another kiss.

"My turn?" Florian asked, a note of almost-pleading in his voice.

"Not a chance. Turn over."

With a small 'hrf', Florian did as he was told, pillowing his head on folded arms while Ray picked up the oil again and drizzled it down the length of Florian's back.

Ray could feel Florian going limp again and made a bet with himself whether Florian would be asleep before the massage was finished. It wouldn't matter if he was, Ray was determined to pamper every inch of his lover, and if Florian did managed to stay awake until the end, Ray would reward him with a little frottage.

They indulged in that often, but usually when one of them was intent on proving something, or gaining a measure of control over the other. They were particularly fond of getting off that way while Florian was spread wide and bound, Ray demanding Florian's release, and Florian fighting to deny him. It was surprising how often Florian won that little game.

But tonight wasn't a game, tonight was Ray tending to his lover, giving him pleasure and comfort; a small repayment for the many times Florian had given pleasure and comfort to Ray.

The thought made Ray smile as he shifted downwards to work on Florian's lower back. Beneath him, Florian gave a contented little sigh. He was silent and motionless by the time Ray was done, but when Ray laid down beside him, ready for sleep, Florian reached out languidly and pulled Ray into his embrace.

XXXXX


	3. Chapter 3

Benjamin pulled the low-burning lamp closer and leaned over his book. It was late but he had work due for tomorrow's classes and had to get it done. Natalie had been asleep for hours, exhausted from the heat and her new-found work at the excavation site.

Benjamin was delighted that she'd found something she enjoyed doing while he was in class all day. He'd learned very quickly that she wouldn't be content tending their little house all day; she was a terrible cook and only a fair housekeeper. He didn't mind, of course. She tried her best, and she'd even managed a few passable menu items. It was simply easier for both of them to hire a neighbor and her daughter to cook and clean for them while he and Natalie pursued their interests elsewhere.

He'd made the transition from Paris to Cairo fairly easily, as he had expected, but Natalie had surprised him. He had been concerned that she would find Egypt too different from her pampered life in Paris. He should have known better; she'd taken to her new surroundings with tireless enthusiasm, working earnestly to befriend their neighbors and understand the ways of this new land.

She didn't seem to mind how small their home was, or how hot and dry and colorless everything was after the spectacle of Paris. Whenever he asked her about it she just laughed and kissed him, assuring him that she was exactly where she wanted to be.

She'd taken to reading some of his textbooks at first. While he was in class or working his part-time job as a professor's assistant, she explored the market stalls or curled up in a bit of shade and struggled to learn what he was learning.

It wasn't that she was cut off entirely from society, of course, but she was reluctant to make herself too visible for fear of word getting back to her family. They still weren't legally married and she didn't want to risk being forced to return to Paris. She'd contented herself with writing to her mother and her youngest brother, assuring them that she was safe and content and hoped they would accept that.

She's also sent a letter to the unexpected accomplice in their escape from Paris, Helene du Rochefort. Before that night, Benjamin hadn't met the woman; he didn't even realize that they had attended some of the same social functions. In his mind, it made her willingness to help even more remarkable.

Although heavily pregnant and obviously tired, she'd welcomed them into her home and fed them a simple but hearty meal before providing a hamper of food for their travel. She'd had her servants make travel arrangements and even pressed an envelope with money into their hands, ignoring their protests.

When Natalie had been resting at Helene's insistence, he had asked her why she would do so much for them; why she would risk the ire of the Courlands to help her friend. Helene had merely rested a hand on her swollen belly and told him that she knew how rare and precious love was, especially among her peers. When they said their goodbyes a few hours later, she kissed them each on both cheeks and asked for their happiness as her only form of thanks.

Later, when they were safely on the ship that would carry them to their new home, Natalie told them that Helene had defied her own family and married for love, choosing a man who had been injured years before and was slowly dying. Their peers had not been kind to her, punishing her with cruel rumors and deliberate snubbing. It had only gotten worse since she became pregnant, many of them speculating that a man so gravely injured couldn't possibly be the father.

"Helene was indeed a strong and remarkable woman," Benjamin had assured her, taking Natalie into his arms. "As strong and remarkable as you." They'd made love that night, hands constantly exploring as if they'd never touched another person. When he woke the next morning, she was tracing patterns across his chest and when he asked what they were, she told him she was writing her name so she'd always be with him. He'd done the same for her, using every alphabet he knew.

She'd taken his hand afterward and kissed each fingertip before rolling on top of him, kissing him breathless and then declaring that she was starving.

Wearing a fond smile, Benjamin shook his head and turned back to his book. There were only a few more pages to be read, and he skimmed lightly, absorbing very little as his mind drifted off again, remembering how excited Natalie had been when she'd returned from a simple outing with friends.

She'd met a pair of British women who were happy to take her along on their explorations of the city and beyond. At first it was a unique shop or an unusual cafe but it quickly turned to talk of ruins and artifacts. He'd thought it would be one more of Natalie's short-lived passions. But when he came home and found her, still dusty and windblown, her eyes so bright they almost glowed, he knew she'd found something she loved.

He'd never even considered refusing to let her join the group working an excavation near one of the small pyramids. There were plenty of women in the group, including the British pair, and they worked under canopies as much as possible.

Natalie had started by cleaning artifacts and making careful lists to identify each piece. Once they realized she had a good eye and a steady hand, she was asked to sketch the pieces as well. She was allowed to play in the dirt, as she called it, but her primary duties were cataloguing and sketching.

Gone were the days of soft hands and pale skin - she was tan now, and Benjamin loved it. He never understood the appeal of women so pale they looked ill. He much preferred his energetic wife with her curly hair loose and her eyes bright, pulling him up narrow stairs to their rooftop where they would dance under the setting sun to music only they could hear.

Laughing quietly to himself, Benjamin placed a marker in the unfinished book and turned off the lamp. He'd have to make up his work tomorrow, but for now, there was a comfortable bed and a beautiful woman waiting for him.

XXXXX

"At least you are prompt, Laurence. I trust you have information for me?"

"Yes, sir," Laurence answered smartly, hoping the quaver in his voice wasn't too noticeable. "Ethan Kensington paid a visit to Count Ray Balzac Courland and has not been seen since. His hotel room was searched yesterday morning by Count Courland and Detective Solomon Sugar. Apparently they didn't find anything of interest."

Azura shifted impatiently and Laurence had to put his hands behind his back so his employer wouldn't see them shake.

"I, uh... I was more successful in my search." He fumbled with the button on his jacket, finally managing to unfasten it and reach inside to the inner pocket. He withdrew a small assortment of papers and handed them to Azura.

"It appears that Mr Kensington has not been completely truthful." Azura held up a duplicate passport and a business card. Both had Kensington's name on it, but unlike the "official" passport that had been in Kensington's luggage which listed his home as Cairo, Egypt, this one identified it as Fez, Morocco. The business card displayed Kensington's name with a single word underneath: Entertainer. He turned to Laurence with a deceptively calm expression and said, "Your theory?"

"An entertainer - an actor - with false papers and an equally false story presents himself to Count Ray Courland as an agent of his people seeking the Count's return to his father's homeland. It would be reasonable to believe that Kensington was hired to make contact with the count and see if he was amenable to the idea of reclaiming his place with his clan." As he spoke, Laurence's voice steadied and he stood straighter and more confidently. He had been hired by Azura because he was smart, thorough and intuitive and he was regaining some of his confidence as he worked through the Kensington puzzle. When he finished speaking he met Azura's eye without flinching.

"Where is Kensington now?" Azura asked, seeming not to notice Laurence's chance in demeanor.

"He is being held against his will in the home of Perrin Renard. In the basement, to be precise."

"Precise is expected," Azura assured him with a hint of amusement in his voice. Laurence felt a stab of uncertainty but himself steady. "Well... Renard?"

"Ah, yes. Both Detective Sugar and Count Courland's assistant, Laila have been gathering information on Monsieur Renard. In addition, Count Michel Courland attended a ball at Renard's home last night and seems to have drawn his host's attention."

"As foolish as ever," Azura commented, pausing to take a drink from a half-full glass of amber liquid. He didn't offer Laurence any refreshment or give him permission to sit. "Continue."

"On the surface, Renard is something of a mystery. He spent some time in Egypt when he was a child, but it's unclear if he was with parents or other relatives. Growing up, he was traded between relatives across Europe and spent an extended time in the Americas. He attended three different universities in the United States, England and Switzerland and is reported to speak seven languages fluently and have an interest in ancient Egyptian artifacts."

"He purchased his current home in Paris over a year ago, but didn't actually visit Paris until four months ago. He keeps a small staff, and they are unusually unwilling to talk about their employer. There is reason to believe this is due to Renard's volatile temper. There have been no verified accounts of him behaving violently, but local shopkeepers have reported seeing bruises on Renard's servants. When questioned directly, none of the servants admit to being abused by their employer." Laurence's gaze wavered as he continued.

"There are a few unconfirmed reports from before Renard arrived in Paris mentioning people opposing Renard and later disappearing."

"And his connection to Ray?" Azura feigned disinterest as he asked the question, but Laurence knew better than to believe it.

"Unclear. There may be none, he may simply be interested in Courland because of his reputation among Paris aristocrats."

"Is that what you believe?"

"No," Laurence admitted. Renard made him even more uneasy than Azura. At least with Azura he had an idea how the man would react to something that displeased him.

"Agreed," Azura said, standing and walking towards him with the fluid grace of a snake. "You will return here tomorrow at the same time, and you will have an answer." It was not a question or a request.

All Laurence could do was nod.

XXXXX

Ethan Kensington hated Paris. He hated the noise and the smells and the crowds of people and longed for the solitude of the desert and the calm of his simple home.

He moved cautiously in his chair, the ropes binding him to the frame rubbing against his already chafed skin. He was in the dark and had been for what felt like days. He was thirsty and hungry and desperately wished for a bathroom.

He'd had a bad feeling about this job from the start. Why would someone pay an actor to travel all the way to Paris to pretend to be a fancy businessman? Surely there were plenty of actors in Paris, those with the correct clothes and proper accents. It had taken Kensington weeks to get the accent right.

The worst part of it was that he didn't even know his employer was. He'd only ever talked to the old man who had been hired to make his new Paris wardrobe. The initial offer of the job had arrived in a fancy envelope with a thick wax seal on the back. He'd never gotten a letter like that before and thought it was an elaborate practical joke staged by his friends. They were all part of an informal troupe that performed on the street and was occasionally hired for festivals or other special events. They'd known each other for years and enjoyed teasing each other, but this was a bit much even for them.

So he'd read the letter and asked his friends leading questions, getting only confused answers in return. At the appointed time he'd put on his best outfit and gone to the hotel to meet his prospective employer, too curious to refuse the invitation.

He'd been unsurprised to see a ragged youth with a crude sign waiting outside the hotel for him. As the lad led him towards the market, Kensington gave up his hope of a free meal and settled on hoping he didn't get mugged.

A few minutes of brisk walking and the boy showed him to a tailor's shop where an old man greeted him and offered a glass of juice. Kensington accepted gratefully, draining it while the man spoke to the boy before dismissing him.

"Name's Isaac. Shall we start?" the man asked when he returned. He took a seat opposite Ethan and poured himself some juice before refilling Ethan's glass.

"Just tell me what this is about," Ethan said calmly. He didn't want to insult a potential employer, but he had no intention of being the butt of a joke.

"How do you feel about traveling abroad?" Isaac asked, picking up a shirt from the small shelf against the wall and working on a tear that had been left half-mended. "Don't get seasick do you?"

"I never have before," Kensington assured him. "And no, I have no objection to travel."

"Good. What about languages? You speak any French."

"Enough to get by, I suppose. What is this about? The note said this was about a job. You do know I'm an entertainer."

"Exactly. This is a job for an actor, someone who's quick and can think on their feet. There's information that must be given to someone in Paris and it has to be delivered in person." Isaac finished the mending job and deftly tied off the thread before stabbing the needle into a bit of extra fabric and folding the shirt. Next he took up a sock.

"So you want me to pretend to be what, a solicitor of something. Someone official? I go to Paris and see this person, give them the message and then what?"

"Nothing. You leave. The first time. But then you go back and you give them the message again, only this time you mention, all casual, that there's someone in Egypt with more information. You offer to accompany him and his companions but he'll refuse again. So you go back one last time and you mention my name, make it seem like a mistake, like you didn't intend to say it. He'll follow you then. And if he doesn't, if you're not actor enough to convince him. Then you get to his companion and you do whatever you have to in order to get him to agree."

For a moment the sock was set aside and Isaac leaned in close, looking more threatening than an old man should be able to look, and said, "You get him here, or you get him to Egypt if that's the best you can do. That's your job, and if you can't do it, tell me now and don't waste any more of our time."

Much to his regret, Ethan Kensington had never been able to resist a challenge. So he ignored the bit of worry in the back of his mind and held out his hand, locking himself into the job with a handshake.

By the time everything was prepared, his travel arranged and new wardrobe assembled, Ethan had pushed that unease to the very back of his mind. And when he stepped onboard the ship, the excitement of a new journey drowned it out completely.

If only he'd listened, he thought for the hundredth time since Renard had locked him in this room. An actor knows to trust his instincts, but he'd let himself be dazzled by fancy clothes and a free trip.

Lowering his head in frustration, he forced himself to take deep, measured breaths. He'd allowed himself to get too deeply into this part. He'd lost himself under the veneer of the Ethan Kensington that had come to Paris to deliver a message to Count Ray Courland. He had to become himself again, had to remember that he wasn't just an actor, he was an entertainer, and that meant he was versatile and clever. And that also meant he knew how to think himself out of all kinds of unexpected situations. Which meant... he put his full effort on pulling down on the ropes binding him, instead of pulling up or out like he'd been doing. There was just the slightest bit of give.

Twenty minutes later, sore, bruised and, in a few places, bleeding, he finally slipped free from the last of the ropes and stood. He was a bit lightheaded and his legs were wobbly (and he still needed a bathroom), but he was free.

Picking up his discarded coat, he put it on, squared his shoulders and walked stiffly to the door. It was locked, of course, but that was hardly a challenge for a multi-talented fellow like himself. A quick application of his trusty lockpick and the lock gave, allowing him to open the door a little. He scanned the area as well as he could, listened, and then quickly stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Luckily the hallway was empty, as were the three rooms he passed through (and the bathroom where he took a brief stop). Feeling much better, he looked out the window estimating his location within the house. A set of stairs, a few more rooms, a quick apology to a servant and he was stepping out a back entrance into a garden. Hedges provided some cover as he moved towards the side gate and in a matter of minutes he was free and striding rapidly down the sidewalk. He was giddy with success and tempted to whistle. He never felt the pair of cold blue eyes watching from the house he'd just left.

XXXXX

Michel held the topaz in his hand, absently noting that the setting needed to be cleaned. Ray had said his mother had had a brooch like this and Michel had wondered if they were a set. He no longer had to wonder.

The letter had been wedged into the back of a desk drawer and, if he hadn't dropped his pen he never would have found it. There had been a small bundle of them, all tied together with ribbon and hidden in the back of the desk.

Perhaps it was coincidence that these particular letters had been in the little interior space between the desk drawer and the back of the desk, but Michel didn't really believe in coincidence. No, considering who these were addressed to, he suspected the letters had been intentionally lost.

Written on the front of each envelope in Natalie Courland's handwriting was the name Helene du Rochefort. And inside... inside there were letters, and trinkets, or the creases where trinkets had been, and even a neatly folded drawing of a dark haired baby boy.

Perhaps because he'd been terrible to Ray when they were children, Michel felt compelled to shield him a little now. He read every word of every letter, looking for things that would hurt Ray, or perhaps Florian. In the end, he was the one who felt bruised and betrayed.

He put the letters along with the topaz in a small box and called his driver. He held the box in his lap for the duration of the short ride and refused to hand it over to Laila when she answered the door.

"He's going over the books with Florian. You can wait in the parlor and I'll tell them you're here." She was much smaller than him, but she still knew how to block his way.

"Fine. Tell them it's important." Michel went without argument, earning a look of concern from Laila before she went off to convey the message to Ray. A short two minutes later the three of them joined Michel in the parlor.

"What's so important?" Ray demanded, his gruffness and Florian's slightly askew collar proving Michel's suspicion that they had not been going over the books - at least not in the traditional sense.

"I found these hidden in the back of the desk in the study. I'm not sure if they were hidden intentionally or by accident, but I think you both need to see them."

Ray was sitting in an arm chair so Florian moved behind it and leaned over while Laila perched on one of the arms. Ray just gave her a look and opened the box Michel had handed him. As soon as he saw the address he looked up at Florian.

"Don't make us wait," Florian's tone was light, but Michel could see how he was gripping the back of the chair.

There were eleven letters in all, and they lingered over them, stretching out their reading for far longer than necessary. When the last one had been read and returned to its envelope, Florian's eyes were red and Ray was oddly still.

"Your mother and mine," Florian said with a hint of wonder in his voice. It was still such a new idea for all of them, the idea of Helene and Natalie as friends.

"My mother was writing to yours all that time and your mother never knew. Because someone, most likely my grandmother, refused to deliver them." Ray reached up and touched Florian's hand, offering comfort.

"It wasn't just that," Florian said in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. "The things she sent, the brooch, the pictures." He hesitated before adding, "The money. It would have made a difference."

The last letter contained a bank draft for a sizable sum of money. Natalie had heard of Helene's financial difficulties and wanted to help. And because both Natalie and Helene had defied the Courlands, the Courlands deliberately withheld the money.

Florian held the slip of paper, looking at the amount as if he'd never seen a bank draft before. He was pale and his amethyst eyes had darkened. He knew it did no good to wonder "what if" but he couldn't help it. It was a ridiculously generous amount, and it would have meant so much to his mother. Ray folded his hand over Florian's closing his hand over the paper but Florian shook his head.

They locked gazes while Michel and Laila looked on silently, not really understanding what was passing between the two men. Finally, after a long moment, Ray withdrew his hand, taking the bank draft when he did. Florian placed his hand flat on Ray's shoulder and leaned down over him a little so his breath passed over the top of Ray's head.

Ray returned the bank draft to the letter and placed it with its envelope in the box before picking up the topaz. He'd brought his mother's topaz out to compare them and spend some time studying them while Laila and the others waited impatiently.

Florian settled into a chair and rested his hands on his knees, his back straight and posture perfectly correct, a pose he'd perfected under his mother's strict training and one that he used when he needed to appear attentive while he was thinking intently.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Ray declared the topazes to be an almost perfect match and suggested they set everything aside until they had some lunch.

Michel agreed readily and took Laila's arm, her enthusiasm for food matching his own. Ray lingered, watching Florian with concern as the man stood slowly, moving as if he'd just woken from a dream. Ray reached over silently and took Florian's hand giving it a squeeze.

Florian squeezed back and said, "your mother was a good woman," before leaning in to give Ray a kiss.

XXXXXX

"Kensington changed his travel arrangements. He's leaving this evening for Morocco."

"Interesting, but not unexpected," Azura assured him. "And Renard?"

"He's got a man watching him. I've got one on him and one on Kensington."

"Double it, and put two on Ray's house. One on that detective and one on Michel Courland also; no point in doing this by halves." Azura tapped the top of the desk, considering, before adding, "Prepare the usual staff for travel. I believe we'll be returning to Morocco sooner than expected. And get in contact with the team in Egypt. Tell them to be prepared."

"Prepared for what, sir?"

"That's the question, isn't it, Laurence?" Azura laughed and waved him away. When he was gone, Azura stood and walked to the window, looking out into the bright Paris day. He'd spent plenty of time in this city, but he'd never felt at home here like he did in Morocco. The only real appeal of Paris was one particular resident. Soon that resident would be in Morocco, exactly where Azura wanted him.

XXXXX

Living in Egypt was nothing like living in a dream. It was too vibrant, too exciting, too alive to be just a nighttime fantasy, and Natalie wouldn't have it any other way. She has Benjamin's love and support, she had good friends who didn't scold her for wearing trousers or getting dirty, and she had a job she loved, allowing her to ease some of Benjamin's burden. He'd assured her that his family was quite wealthy, and they did provide some support, but Benjamin accepted only what they really needed.

When Natalie joined her friends on that first visit to the dig site, she'd considered it a lark, nothing more than a day's outing. She never would have expected that it would change her life. The feeling of wonder that enveloped her when she stood among the ruins… when she first held a pottery shard from the ancient past... It still left her feeling a little overwhelmed.

And Benjamin - thank all that was good that she had found him. She couldn't imagine any other man fully supporting her work and encouraging her to do more, to try new things. He even brought books from the university library for her to read, and sat with her on the roof of their little home, watching the sun set and sharing her absolute joy. She couldn't imagine anything better than this.

It had been hotter than usual for the last two weeks and Natalie was feeling exhausted and unwell. She'd been nauseous and blamed it on spoiled fruit until she mentioned it to Tilly, one of her British friends and had received a laugh and a hug in return.

"You may want to find yourself a doctor, dear," Tilly suggested. "I can give you the name of one if you'd like. You may want to get moving on those sketches, too. I suspect you'll be taking a little break from this," she gestured elegantly at their surroundings. "in seven months or so."

"Sev-" Natalie's eyes went wide and one of her hands dropped to her stomach. "You think...?"

"You wouldn't be the first woman who'd been taken by surprise," Tilly assured her. "My sister has seven, if you can imagine. Spared me the effort, thankfully. I visit the little darlings on major holidays, if I must, and send letters the rest of the year."

"What will I tell Benjamin? He'll be thrilled, but he's got another year of studies and there's so much to do." She fluttered nervously, not at all like her usual self. Tilly caught her hands and helped her to calm. "Have Addy take you back to town, dear. In fact, see if she'll take you right to the doctor. If he can't fit you in today at least you can get an appointment. Have some lunch and bring us back some of those pastries we all like."

"I will, Tilly. Thank you." She threw her arms around her friend for one more hug before running off to find Adelaide. She was already feeling more like herself. If Tilly was right… If she really was pregnant... She'd seen how expectant mothers were treated in Paris, all but hidden away to protect them in their delicate condition. She could never have tolerated it. And here she wouldn't have to. She'd be careful, and she was sure that her friends and Benjamin would keep an eye on her, but she would still be able to get out, to go to work - at least for a few more months - and no one would force her to hide as if it was something to be ashamed of. She brushed her hand across her stomach, it didn't feel any different, but soon, if it as true, everything would change.

XXXXX

"Are you sure this is wise?" Florian asked. Laila just shook her head; they all knew the answer. She gathered the map and other plans can took them away to burn.

"You ask me that every time," Ray reminded him in a gently teasing tone. "Should I even bother to answer?"

"I suppose not," Florian conceded. He knew Noir would go out tonight whether Florian wanted him to or not, but Florian would never actually ask him not to go. If he asked, he knew Ray would agree, and neither of them would be happy. Sometimes Florian hated having that kind of control over his lover, but all he could do was try to give an equal amount of control in return.

"What about the topazes? The letters? Kensington?" Florian asked, changing the subject deliberately.

"What about them? They can wait until I have the Cairo Rose."

Florian nodded, sitting down as a sign of surrender. The Cairo Rose was a gold necklace with a large, carved amethyst in the center. There was no way Noir could resist that kind of temptation.

"Why do you have to do this tonight?"

"I knew you weren't listening," Ray scolded him fondly. "Tomorrow the necklace will be sold. This is Noir's last chance to acquire it from the current owner - the very person who is reported to have cheated the previous owner on the sale price."

Florian made a discontented sound but didn't interrupt.

"Besides," Ray continued, "the new would-be owner is the mysterious Perrin Renard, collector of all things related to Egypt. I'd rather not see the Cairo Rose in that man's hands."

"We haven't even met the man," Florian reminded him.

"And I don't particularly care to. He seems a bit too interested in us, and..." he hesitated and Florian filled in the rest of the sentence:

"You have a bad feeling about him."

"I do, but I wouldn't have phrased it like that," Ray pointed out with a grin.

"Of course not," Florian assured him. He reached up and ran his hand down Ray's face, savoring the contact before leaning in for a lingering kiss. He moved back slowly. "Be careful." He made sound like a casual reminder, but there was a hint of strain in his voice. He was always nervous when Noir had a mission. There had been a few near misses, and probably more that Ray never told him about. There had been that one heart-stopping night when Noir had been injured and nearly captured by the police. If it weren't for the quick thinking of Ray's loyal gang, Ray would be in prison right now.

"I'm always careful," Ray made it a promise, his expression soft as he reached for Florian and pulled him into his lap. "What has you so upset? I don't think it's just tonight's adventure that has you on edge."

"I don't know," Florian confessed, shifting so he could rest his head on Ray's shoulder. It was an awkward position but he needed the comfort. "There's too much at once I suppose: the letters, learning about your father and mother. My mother. It just feels..."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Ray assured him. "You're not going to lose me."

Rather than comfort him, the words made Florian shiver. He lifted his head and pressed a kiss to Ray's jaw.

"I'm holding you to that promise," he warned, settling back again and trying with all his willpower to set aside his fears.

XXXXX

Ethan Kensington checked out of his hotel precisely at four. Carrying one suitcase, he stopped at a nearby cafe and ordered a coffee and the dinner special, clearing his plate and draining his cup as if he was eating his last meal. It was just before five when he left the cafe and continued on to the train station, walking the distance at a steady pace rather than hiring a cab.

He was precisely twenty-two minutes early and passed the time reading a newspaper he purchased from a young newsie outside the station. When it was time to board, he left the paper behind.

Kensington had paid for first class passage and he was glad to have the car to himself. As the trained pulled out of the station, he watched the city recede. He hoped it would be the last time he ever saw Paris.

He wasn't angry, precisely, but he was suspicious. He still didn't understand the motive for his abduction and was convinced that his escape was entirely too easy. He wasn't reluctant to tout his own skills, but he'd barely used them to free himself. No, there was something much more complicated here than the simple story he'd been told and he was on his way to Morocco to find that tailor and force him to tell the truth.

Ethan Kensington had good instincts; it was past time he started trusting them.

XXXXX

Perrin Renard was in a very good mood. He took another appreciative swallow of a most excellent wine and surveyed the room. His knight had been moved as well as all of the pawns and a rook. On the opposing side, the king was still in place - for now - as was the queen, but both knights, both bishops and a rook had been placed. Several pawns had been played, and one sat off the board, captured early in the game.

Renard snapped his fingers at Wilkins and gestured to his own queen, pointing to where he wanted the piece moved. The man hurried over and did as requested before scurrying back to pour more wine into Renard's glass.

"Good man, Williams. You're learning."

Strolling casually among the pieces, Renard stopped beside his queen and found himself, as intended, directly across from the white king.

"Check."

XXXXX

Slipping into his Noir costume brought Ray a measure of comfort that Florian would never understand. When the cloak was fastened and the hat placed just so, all of the daily worries disappeared and the only concern was the mission.

Tonight that mission was to acquire the Cairo Rose. The necklace was beautiful, the amethyst flawless, and the setting the work of a true artist. But it wasn't the beauty of the necklace that compelled Ray. There was something about the piece, something that Ray could never explain, and another thing Florian would understand. Ray disliked these barriers between him and his lover, but he had no idea how to remove them.

Yes, Ray loved beautiful things, but while most people appreciated that beauty passively, it spurred Ray to action. He needed those rare, compelling objects like he needed air. Without them, it felt as if small pieces of himself were missing.

As Noir, he could recover those pieces, could make himself whole. For himself, and for Florian, who was missing pieces of his own self that could never be recovered.

Slipping into the darkness brought Noir to life, waking senses that had been dulled by too much time inside hunched over ledgers. This was the real him, the real Ray Balzac Courland, who was also the phantom thief Noir.

Embracing that identity, Noir swung neatly up into the correct tree, earning a scolding from Laila's squirrel on the way.

It was easy enough to swing in through the open second story window. It let him into the hallway and from there it was two doors down on the left for the study where the safe was reported to be.

The house was silent - apparently the owner and his wife retired promptly at eleven with the servants all in bed by one. It was just before three now and the study was lit only by moonlight.

A moment to survey the room, a few more to move the painting that hid the wall safe, and then Noir set to work. Less than two minutes later there was a soft click and safe opened easily.

Reaching into the small interior, Noir found that it contained only one long, narrow box. Frowning, he picked it up; it felt light. His senses were on high alert as he snapped open the box and found a piece of paper and a coiled leash in place of the Cairo Rose.

Ray read the note, hands tightening in anger. He took the box and its contents and retraced his path to the tree, leaving the safe standing wide open behind him.

XXXXX

"What happened?" Laila demanded as soon as Ray climbed into the car.

"Drive," he ordered grimly and was glad that, for once, she didn't argue with him; they reached home in record time. Ray barely waited for the car to stop moving before he was out and racing into the house, shouting Florian's name.

The door to their suite was closed and Ray barely opened it in time to avoid colliding with it as he ran full speed through the dark sitting area. Before he even reached the bed he knew it was too late; the window was wide open.

"Damn him!" Ray shouted, grabbing the rumpled bedding and throwing it aside. "Damn him to hell!"

"Ray!" Laila had to grab Ray to get him to finally acknowledge her. He turned on her, his expression so feral she took a step back. "Where's Florian?"

"Taken," Ray snapped, all but shoving the box at her. She took it and scanned the note, expression turning grim.

"Do you know where your pet is?" she read out loud, picking up the leash. "How do you know it's Renard?"

"Who else would it be?" Ray snapped, flinging off Noir's cloak and hat. "He's been playing us."

"But why? And why would he want Florian?"

"Why does everyone want Florian?" Ray countered, dropping down onto the bed and putting his head in his hands. He looked up at her with an air of vulnerability he rarely let her see. "It's because of me. He's always getting hurt because of me."

"You can't think that way," Laila snapped at him, tossing the leash down and grabbing his arm. "You have to think like Noir: Renard has a jewel you want, how do you get it?"

"No, Laila. Not this time. No games, no clever plans." Ray reached over and touched her face gently. "I'm not risking him again. In a few hours I'll take this," he picked up the leash, "and I will walk up to Renard's front door and give him what he wants."

"What does he want?" Laila demanded, her heart breaking.

"Does it matter?" Ray gave her the gentlest smile he could manage. "Get some rest, Laila. I'll see you downstairs at seven." Without another word, he lay down fully clothed and closed his eyes.

Laila stared at him a moment, her vision blurring with tears. She wiped them away and covered him with a blanket before leaving the room.

XXXXX

"Excellent work, Laurence." Azura poured the man a measure of vodka and handed it to him before continuing. "Alert the men watching Ray's house but tell them not to reveal themselves unless it's necessary. I expect we'll be seeing Ray sooner than planned, so tell the cook to have that list of foods prepared. Oh, and I supposed we should include some marzipan and shortbread in case we have an additional guest, although I expect we won't be seeing him for a while."

Laurence made a mental note of the commands, drained his glass and nodded his thanks before taking his leave. When he was gone, Azura poured himself another measure of vodka and twisted an orange slice into it. He drank slowly and allowed himself to anticipate his upcoming meeting with Ray Balzac Courland. It was going to be a pleasure.

XXXXX

Florian was frustrated. Why was he always the one to be kidnapped? The fact that he was wearing only his night clothes and had no shoes made it worse. He'd probably never live this down.

He looked around as much as the rope binding him allowed and decided that this fell far short of being the nicest placed he'd been held captive. The mattress was lumpy and too thin, the blanket was scratchy and the air in the room was stale. Worst of all was the suspicion that he wasn't in Paris anymore. In fact, his stomach was insisting that he was on a ship. And without Laila's magic anti-seasickness elixir. This wasn't going to be pleasant.

He moved each limb in turn, testing the strength of the rope and the knots that bound him. There was no chance of just slipping free.

Must they always make it so difficult? Florian asked himself, struggling to keep a lighthearted attitude. He didn't dare let himself fall into doubt and despair. He'd been to that dark place before, and nearly hadn't escaped.

Well then, he refocused his thoughts quickly, what to try first. Left or right? He decided on his right hand simply because there was a little more give on that side. He twisted his upper body into an uncomfortable curve, just managing to bring his mouth to the rope binding his wrist. He bit at it, grimacing at the taste but setting to work patiently; he knew from experience that this wouldn't be quick.

It was a race against the clock as he bit at and worried the rope, refusing to let himself feel triumph when he imagined a little more give, or despair when his back started aching in protest of his awkward position.

He froze a few times, listening as footsteps passed in front of his door, then relaxed as they receded. Finally, finally, the knot was loose enough to slip his hands free.

It took no time to undo the rest of his bonds after that, although he needed a moment to settle his stomach once he was upright. His legs were unsteady, so he leaned on whatever was close as he moved towards the door. He tried the handle and almost fell when the door opened easily.

"Ah, excellent timing," a well dressed main carrying a silver tray said as Florian emerged. "I was about to bring you some tea. Would you like to have it here or join your host?"

"Tea with my host, thank you," Florian replied confidently, adding one more reason to be thankful for his mother's relentless drills on proper behavior in all situations. He started to follow the man then remembered what he was wearing. "My clothes..."

"There are clean garments in the master's rooms for later. He won't object to your current attire."

"Well, then," Florian gestured for the man to lead the way, following him along an interior corridor of what had was definitely a ship. There were no other people around, but there was a constant hum of machinery.

"I'm afraid we had to settle you in one of the only unoccupied rooms while yours was prepared. Master insisted on securing you so that you wouldn't be injured when we left port but unfortunately the ropes were the only solution at hand. I do have salve for any rope burns you may have gotten."

"That's kind of you... I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Wilkins, sir."

"Thank you, Wilkins."

They walked for what seemed like a long time, with Florian acutely aware of his attire, lack of proper grooming and protesting stomach. They passed a few people in the hall, most of whom seemed to be crew, who gave them brief nods and kept walking. Despite his nervousness and nausea, Florian was glad when they finally reached their destination.

Wilkins tapped on the door lightly and opened it without waiting for an answer. He entered and moved aside so Florian could step into the room.

"Through there, sir. I'll lay out your change of clothes in the bathroom along with grooming supplies and draw you a bath." Florian nodded his thanks and followed Wilkins motion towards the next room.

"Welcome, Florian. Please, come in." the elegantly dressed blond man stood and held out his hand in greeting, his eyes raking Florian's body. "My apologies for your rough treatment, I'm afraid it was necessary. Perrin Renard" He stepped back and gestured towards the waiting tea set, "tea?"

"Yes, thank you. Florian du Rochefort, but you seem to already know that."

"I do. You and your associate, Count Courland, are somewhat notorious in Paris."

"You can't believe everything you hear," Florian chided mildly, settling himself gracefully into a chair and accepting the tea Renard offered. He inhaled the fragrant steam, stalling until his host had taken a drink before trying the tea himself. Judging from the man's smirk he knew what Florian was doing, but Florian didn't care.

"Tell me," Florian asked after a few long minutes of silence, "Why exactly was it necessary to kidnap me? We've never met."

"Indeed we have not. But I do know you, Florian. I know about your mother and her regrettable brother. I know about your unfortunate financial situation. I even..." he lowered his voice, "know about your relationship with Ray Courland."

"Interesting," Florian responded using every bit of well practiced social élan he could muster.

"You see," Renard continued, pouring himself more tea, "I like to know things about people. Consider it a hobby."

"I thought your hobby was collecting Egyptian artifacts." Florian commented, earning a toast from Renard.

"Oh it is. Which is why you and your lover are so fascinating. Well, that's why Ray is interesting. You're more of a convenience."

"How kind of you. Who doesn't enjoy a compliment?" Florian set his empty teacup down on the table with a soft clink and stood. "If you would excuse me, I believe Wilkins has prepared a bath."

He was two steps away from the bathroom when he collapsed.

XXXXX

Solomon Sugar adjusted his hat and stepped out of the doorway into the flow of shoppers. He walked briskly down two blocks and turned the corner before hailing a cab. He gave the driver the address and sat back in the carriage, using the time to plan. When he arrived at his destination, he disembarked and paid his fare. He tugged his jacket into place before entering the gate and walking up to the main entrance.

"Yes?" The man who opened the door was well dressed and most likely a butler.

"Is Monsieur Renard at home?" Solomon asked, presenting his card. "I have urgent business."

"My apologies, sir. The master left last evening for an extended journey. He won't be back for some time."

"I see. What is his destination?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Really? Well, then I suppose I shall have to take this matter to the police." Solomon took a slow step back then turned to leave. He was almost out the door before the man called him back.

"Wait! Sir, I... because it is urgent... He's bound for Egypt and Morocco, sir."

"Taking the early morning train to La Havre I suppose?"

"I believe so, sir. But... he will have sailed before you can reach him."

"I see. Thank you." Solomon left quickly and hailed a cab. He barked Ray's address at the driver and promised him double the fare if he made it there in ten minutes."

The driver made it in nine and earned a nice tip on top of his fare. He drove off while Solomon raced up the drive to the house and burst through the door without knocking.

"He's gone!" Solomon shouted before heading towards Ray's study. Ray met him in the hall and grabbed him by the arms.

"What do you mean he's gone? Where has he gone?"

"Le Havre. He was on the early train."

"Damnit!" Ray snapped before raising his voice and shouting for Laila. Seconds later she came running with a suitcase in each hand.

"I put a few things of Florian's in with yours," She said as she dropped the cases and turned to Solomon. "We won't have time to stop by your house, so you can share with Ray or Florian and we'll buy what we need later."

"Did you have Violetta pack a hamper?"

"I did, and Pierre is bringing the car around. I sent Jacques on ahead to buy the tickets. Jean-Claude and Robert are staying here and will send anything we need on later."

"Ray," Solomon gripped Ray's hand. "Stop. We're not going to catch him this way." He turned to Laila and asked, "Has anyone told Michel what happened?"

"No," she confessed, looking annoyed at herself. "I should have thought."

"No time for that now, Laila." He turned to Ray. "I know you're upset, but this isn't like you. Stop a moment and think. Renard is smart and you're not going to catch him if you aren't smarter."

Ray growled in frustration, but he conceded the point to Solomon. "You're right." Laila, go see Michel. Tell him we need a ship and we need it as soon as possible. We've got to get to... " He looked at Solomon, "Where did you say Renard was headed?"

"Egypt and Morocco."

"And he's leaving from Le Havre? Then it's Morocco first."

"Unless that's a misdirection," Laila argued. "What if he's only taking the ship part of the way and then does part of the trip over land?"

"Not likely," Solomon argued. "He's got Florian with him. He's not going to risk the possibility of him escaping."

"We could second guess ourselves all day," Ray snapped. "Laila, go talk to Michel. We'll plan for Morocco and consider alternatives later. He's got a good lead on us and every minute we spend debating, Florian gets farther away."

Laila nodded once and left, gone out the front door without a word, while Solomon picked up the suitcases and put then beside the stairs. He turned to Ray and pointed him back to the study.

"We need a plan. Go." To his complete surprise, Ray went. Solomon followed after, mind working furiously. On the surface, none of this made sense. Why did Renard want Florian? For that matter what was his interest in Ray? There was something they were missing and the only common factor Solomon could think of was Egypt.

He entered the study after Ray and took a seat, his gaze falling on the stacks of letters and journals. What if it wasn't really about Ray after all? What if it was about Ray's parents?

"This Renard, he's fascinated by Egyptian artifacts." Solomon was still putting the pieces together even as he spoke. "Those letters about your mother and father; your parents were in Egypt for several years, weren't they?"

"Yes, I was born there."

"And your mother worked on at least one dig site?"

"She did. Apparently she was fascinated by Egyptian artifacts as well. And father was a student of history."

"So what if Renard believes that you have something, some artifact from your parents. Something that he wants?"

"I've never met the man, and I know very little about my parents. Even if I did have something, how would he know about it?"

"Perhaps he doesn't know. What if he heard from someone that your parents were in Egypt, and he came to the conclusion that they had passed down whatever he wants."

"I suppose asking was too difficult," Ray scoffed before turning serious. "Everything that belonged to my parents was lost or sold long ago. I have nothing he could want, and even if I did, he'd never get it." Ray paused then added in a cold voice, "He took Florian."

"I know. And he will be punished for that, Ray. But first we have to catch him, and to do that we have to stay focused." Solomon hesitated before asking, "Can you do that?"

"I can," Ray assured him. He straightened in his seat and reached for a piece of paper. He wrote quickly, making a list of what needed to be done and dividing it among himself, Solomon and his staff. He handed it to Solomon and rose, about to leave the room when he stopped and turned back.

"I do have something from my parents," he said quietly. "Two somethings." He went to the wall safe and dialed in the combination, confident that Solomon could be trusted. After all, Ray had trusted him with Florian's safety on more than one occasion.

He took the box containing the two topazes out of the safe and opened it. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he also took out the box that had once held the Cairo Rose. He handed them both to Solomon.

"Secure those. We're taking them with us. It may mean nothing, but I'm not taking a chance."

Solomon accepted the burden solemnly. He nodded to Ray and left to complete his assigned tasks, leaving Ray to have a moment of peace.

XXXXX

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Natalie said as soon as she approached the cafe table where her friends were seated. She pulled out a chair and dropped into it gratefully, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead.

"Drink this, dear. We ordered a pitcher of lemonade for the table." Tilly poured a glass and pushed it towards Natalie. "We haven't ordered our food yet."

"I ate a huge breakfast just a few hours ago and now I'm hungry again," Natalie confessed. "Mother would be absolutely appalled."

"From what you've told us about your mother, I agree." Addy reached out and patted Natalie's hand. "No offense dear. I know you must miss her."

"I do, but not enough to regret the choice I made." She gave her friends a reassuring smile. "Benjamin and I are happy here." She took a drink of lemonade and smiled at the waiter who came to take their order. When he left the table, Tilly leaned forward and placed a hand on Natalie's.

"Have you heard from your family recently?"

"I have. There was package from my youngest brother's wife. She sent me a few items her son has outgrown. It's hard to believe her Michel is already a year old." She laughed brightly. "It's even harder to believe my little brother is a father. He was such a troublemaker, always into mischief."

"Like this one here, you mean," Tilly teased, nodding to Addy, who merely smiled. Of the pair, Tilly was the outgoing, energetic one, likely to be anywhere at anytime on the dig site, while Addy was the steady, calm one who went about her tasks with quiet efficiency. Of course, she did have an impish smile, and a quick wit to match it. Together, the two of them were the best companions Natalie could have ever hoped for – far different from the silly coquettes and dour maidens that were so plentiful in Paris.

"I suspect this one's already taking notes from you ladies. The way he moves around-" She broke off as the waiter approached and served their meals. The conversation shifted to the dig and the most recent items they'd found. Natalie's doctor had recommended that she work only two days a week and she was having a hard time adjusting, no matter how much she was looking forward to the birth of her child. She missed the camaraderie of the workers and the excitement of new discoveries. When she'd tried to explain it to Benjamin, fumbling for words, he simply held up one of his textbooks and gave her a kiss.

Her thoughts drifted as Tilly talked about the new sets of pottery shards they'd discovered. She looked around the little café and beyond to the busy avenue. She was so thankful to be here, to have Benjamin, and her work and the friendship of these warm and funny ladies. Of course she missed her family, but her only regret was having lost contact with Helene. Natalie wished she could let her know how deeply grateful she was for everything Helene had done for her and Benjamin.

"Are you alright, dear?" Addy asked, leaning in close to look into Natalie's eyes. When she caught her gaze, Addy leaned back and laughed kindly. "You were drifting."

"Forgive me, ladies. I was thinking about home."

"Have you heard from your friend? Helene was it?"

"No," Natalie shook her head unhappily. "If only I had written down her address. But I was only to Helene's house the once and there was so much happening. I've sent letters to her by way of my mother but there's been nothing. Benjamin and I owe her so much."

"You don't suppose… Your mother must have been angry with her for helping you leave." Tilly and Addy shared a look before Tilly continued delicately, "Perhaps your letters haven't found their way to Helene yet."

"No. No, mother would never be so petty. It was my decision to leave. Helene had nothing to do with it."

"You've had letters from your mother, have you?"

"Yes, several. It takes so long for them to reach here from Paris, but she has written and there's been nothing to indicate that she's holding a grudge against Helene. Or me."

"That's good news," Addy assured Natalie before looking at Tilly. After a few seconds, Addy cleared her throat and gave Tilly a meaningful look.

"Yes? Oh. Oh!" Tilly thumped her hand down on the table and laughed. "Silly me, I nearly forgot." She picked up her satchel and rummaged before withdrawing a cloth pouch and handing it to Natalie.

"We found these at a little market stall near that curry place Tilly likes, and thought you might like them as friendship tokens." She watched Natalie open the pouch and drop two yellow topaz into her hand. The stones were smooth on one side and a little rough on the other, as if they'd been set onto some kind of backing at one time.

"They're lovely, but I couldn't…"

"Of course you can. They weren't expensive because there's no setting. Tilly and I thought you could have them set and keep one for yourself and send the other to your friend Helene. Then you'd have friendship pins like we do." At their first meeting, Natalie had commented on the matching pins that Tilly and Addy wore on their hats and they'd told her they'd bought them before a long separation, as a reminder of their friendship.

"The pin would remind you of us too. Triple the friendship." Tilly laughed delightedly at her own joke and the others joined in.

"Let Benjamin have them set," Addy said giving her a conspiratorial smile. "Then he'll be part of it too."

"Don't forget the color," Natalie said. "Golden, like Egypt itself."

"Such a romantic," Tilly teased. "I suppose you're still determined to name that little boy Ray, aren't you?"

"Absolutely," Natalie agreed. "My little ray of sunshine."

XXXXX

"Speak," Azura commanded as soon as Laurence entered the room. Azura was seated at a desk with an array of papers, old books and maps and did not look happy.

"Renard _is_ on his way to Egypt. Cairo in fact. Morocco was a diversion. He took a ship from Le Havre to Bordeaux and is reported to be traveling by train to Marseilles."

"From Marseilles he could travel by ship to either Egypt or Morocco." Azura pointed out mildly.

"True, but one of his attendants was heard to say that Renard had sent staff ahead to prepare his lodging in Cairo. He was also heard to say that Renard was traveling with a companion who was ill."

"Ray's pet is predictable," Azura sounded bored. "I want him removed from Renard by noon tomorrow - have him sent to Cahors. Send word to Ray now. tell him to hurry, before his precious amethyst is tarnished." Azura smiled at that one, before turning his attention back to the piles of papers on his desk.

"There's one more thing. Renard is in possession of a necklace known as the Cairo Rose. It is gold with a large, carved amethyst. I want the Rose. If there's anything else of interested, particularly of Egyptian origin, I want it." He tapped a book with a sketch of an impressive necklace. "There's an interesting legend connected to that particular piece of jewelry. You know how those kinds of things amuse me, Laurence. I don't expect to be disappointed."

When Azura returned to his books without another word, Laurence bowed and turned to leave. He had only taken one step when Azura spoke.

"Cahors in three days with the Cairo Rose and Ray's pet."

Laurence nodded stiffly without turning around and when Azura didn't say anything else, Laurence fled.

XXXXX

"Insufferable bastard."

"Where is Ray?" Solomon asked, handing over the drink he'd brought for his host. It was late and most of the ship's passengers were in their cabins or in one of the on board lounges.

"Terrorizing Laila. Or perhaps she's terrorizing him, this time. They seem to take turns." Michel downed the drink in one long swallow and set the glass down on the railing, looking out into the dark water as if it held answers.

"You know it's not personal," Solomon offered, feeling that someone ought to show some gratitude to the man. He'd arranged all of their travel and postponed his own business to accompany them.

"On the contrary, it's very personal." Michel reached for the bottle that Solomon had brought from the bar along with their beverages. He took a drink but didn't bother with the glass. "I bought a gift for Florian – an exquisite jade. Planned to make a presentation out of it – gain some favor with him and annoy Ray at the same time." He took another drink. "I don't think I can do that now. I've never seen him like this."

"You have. You were the one who got Ray and Florian out of Morocco."

"Yes, and I paraded them around like show dogs for the other passengers." He smiled ruefully. "Laila set me straight about that, or at least she tried to."

"Michel—"

"No, Solomon, let me say this. I was never really kind to Ray. I resented him and the time my parents gave him, and I refused to make things easier for him. But I knew, I saw how he was when he first arrived in Paris. And Ray's not the kind of person who would ever ask for help. Not for himself."

"No, he's not. But he would do anything for those he considers his friends. Florian—" Solomon recognized the expression on Michel's face, that determination to make something right that could never really be fixed. Solomon understood that feeling all too well; he'd lost himself when his sister was murdered, and people who didn't deserve it got hurt.

"Florian is much more than a friend. I think I understand what that means now." Michel looked out into the dark again. "I used him too, you know. At first. He was… the way he was after Morocco. After Azura. But all I saw was another rare and beautiful object. I wanted him for his beauty and his title; it didn't matter that he was… the way he was. Gone inside, Ray called it. Florian's eyes were empty."

"I remember," Solomon said quietly.

"Did you know that Ray sat with him? Night after night, refusing to let Laila fret over him. Both of them so wounded. And Florian would have these fits - nearly threw himself overboard. If Ray had been a few seconds later..." Michel turned to him, eyes dark and jaw set. "Call it selfish, but I don't ever want to see him like that. Either of them. Anything I can do to prevent that..." he laughed with a hint of self-mockery. "for my own sake."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit," Solomon told him. "You think Ray is punishing you for what you did as a child? For what happened three years ago? The only one punishing you is you. Ray's got other things to worry about, and the best you can do - besides arranging transport - is to stop moping. Florian could be headed towards Morocco or Egypt or anywhere in between. Ray's convinced we should head towards Morocco, but I'm not sure I agree."

"Why not? Kensington's trail leads to Morocco."

"Yes, but Renard is obsessed with Egyptian artifacts. He's got the Cairo Rose and he's got Florian. There has to be a connection."

"You have a theory?"

"I do. It's a crazy one, but experience has proven that to be somewhat expected around Ray." Solomon's tone was a mixture of fond amusement and exasperation.

"Laila mentioned hearing something about a secret hidden in the Cairo Rose. Ray said that the stone had been examined and nothing was ever found. But what if the story is true and there is a secret?"

"Renard collects artifacts. He may have found something that tells more about the secret, or at least what the secret is." Michel grew more excited as he considered the possibilities. "What if it's some kind of map, or a key to a hidden treasure?"

"But if the stone's been examined?" Solomon felt compelled to argue the point.

"Maybe it just wasn't examined in the right way? Maybe it has to be looked at or held in a specific way to reveal the secret?" Michel persisted.

"Well, then we'll rescue Florian and the necklace at the same time." Solomon reached over and took the bottle from Michel's hand. It had been three-quarters full when he brought it out on deck and now there were only a few mouthfuls left. He tipped some into his glass and raised it in a little salute before drinking.

Michel took the bottle back, saluted, and downed the rest of the liquid. Solomon didn't protest since he'd taken it from Michel's room in the first place.

XXXXX

Florian woke in stages. His first awareness was the heat of fingers tracing a pattern on his chest, followed almost immediately by an awareness of a dull pain in the same area.

"Nnnn," he tried to protest but wasn't awake enough to form words yet. His ears, however, were working fine.

"You kept me waiting long enough."

It was Renard. Even if Florian didn't recognize his voice, he'd never forget that odor - a combination of domestic cigars and sour cologne. He turned his head, trying to minimize the smell for the sake of his stomach - now awake and protesting.

"Open your eyes, Florian. I have a surprise for you." Renard smiled as Florian's eyelids fluttered several times before his eyes stayed open. "Consider it a gift." He held up a hand mirror and angled it so Florian could see where Renard's hand rested on Florian's bare chest, over his heart.

With panic threatening, Florian did a quick inventory. Thankfully the rest of his clothes seemed to be intact. He even had his shirt, it was just unbuttoned. He calmed a little, but remained wary. When Renard lifted hand Florian panicked.

"What have you done?" he demanded, straining to sit up. The dull ache flared into a throb.

"I wouldn't do that yet. I'm afraid Williams may have been overzealous with that drug. You've been unconscious for hours."

"And this is why you had to drug me? To paint some kind of- What is that anyway?" Florian was still struggling against Renard's restraining hands.

"Appalling," Renard chided. "I present you with a gift and this is how you thank me?"

"Give me a minute to get upright and I'll thank you," Florian snapped. The throb of pain was intensifying. "Why did you do this?" He narrowed his eyes and demanded, "Was this your plan all along?"

"On the contrary, you are merely a convenience. It's your lover I want, your precious Ray. You were intended as the lure, but it occurred to me that you could be doubly useful." Renard pushed Florian down flat on the bed and leaned over him. "But don't think, even for a moment, that you aren't expendable. I will kill you without a second thought if you become an inconvenience."

Renard, leaned back, his eyes locked on Florian's. He was secretly pleased, and more than a little amused that Florian refused to cower. Well, that explained a little of the attraction for someone like Ray Courland. That, and the fact that the man was flexible. Renard had an appreciation for such attributes when it came to companions.

"If you can behave yourself, you may get up slowly. Williams will draw you another bath and you'll want to eat." Renard started to leave and Florian called out for him to wait.

"What is this?" Florian asked again, resting his hand lightly over the mark. He had gained his feet with only a little wavering and was looking at himself in the long mirror on the wardrobe door.

It was a rose, the edges an angry violet and the skin around it red and irritated. He traced the image lightly, trying to smudge it. The muscle under the mark throbbed.

"It's permanent," Renard assured him. "You should be honored. It's been centuries since someone bore the mark of the Cairo Rose." Renard stood close behind Florian and put one hand on his shoulder to steady him. Florian flinched, but didn't try to move away, he was too shocked by what he was seeing.

"What does it mean?"

"The Cairo Rose isn't just a piece of jewelry; it's the symbol of an ancient sect. They were philosopher knights - men and women specially chosen to study and protect the most ancient of treasures. The group originated from before the time of the pharaohs and continued on in secret until they were betrayed. It was believed they were all murdered and the treasures stolen. Hundreds of years later, this necklace was discovered in the home of a simple craftsman. He claimed that he had carved the rose based on stories he had been told by his mother, and modeled it after the mark she bore on her left breast. He couldn't provide any other information, no matter how much persuasion was applied."

Florian turned away from his reflection and slipped away from Renard. He took a seat on the nearest chair, feeling unsteady and overwhelmed.

"If there was a secret sect, and even if they are still active, what will giving me the mark accomplish? It won't tell me the location of the treasure."

"No, it won't," Renard confirmed, reaching into the wardrobe and taking out the box containing the Cairo Rose. He held out the necklace to Florian, who took it, frowning. Florian examined the rose, suddenly realizing why there was a red tint to a few of the carved surfaces.

"It was just as well that Williams administered too much of the drug. I'm sure you wouldn't have wanted to be awake for the procedure." He took the necklace back and pressed it against his palm to show Florian how the carving left an impression in his skin. "The tattoo had to be accurate."

"I still don't understand," Florian insisted. "What does this accomplish? How does it find the treasure?"

"It doesn't. I don't need you, you're just insurance. I've narrowed down the possible locations, now I need something your dear Ray has - a pair of topazes. You're a convenient way for me to get what I need. But," He reached out and touched Florian's chest, which was now covered by his shirt. "... If something happens to the necklace, I have a near-perfect copy."

Florian didn't look at all convinced. He knew there was more, something that Renard wasn't telling him. He glared at the man until Renard laughed.

"Such a fierce kitten," he said, leaning forward to catch and hold Florian's undivided attention. "Ancient sects often practiced rituals that required a sacrifice. If necessary, you will be that sacrifice."

Florian nodded. He'd expected something like that. "Honesty at last. Would you call Wilkins, then? I'd like that bath now, and then a light meal with a very large dessert. He crossed his arms and waited while Renard went to find Wilkins.

It was then he noticed the chess set, with a game already in progress. Feeling defiant, Florian shifted a few of the pieces. He was on the other side of the room when Wilkins arrived.

XXXXX

"Ow! Ow! Stop it!" Ethan Kensington tried to use his suitcase as a shield as he darted around the shop trying not to get hit by the old man's cane. Isaac had started hitting him the minute he arrived at the shop.

"You were supposed to bring him here. That's what I paid you for - not to leave Ray somewhere in France. You pick that suitcase up and get back there." He shook the cane for emphasis. "Don't come back until you can get him to come back with you. You hear me, Kensington?"

"Listen. Ow! Listen. I mean it, stop!" Kensington got a grip on the cane at last and held it still so he could talk. "You didn't tell me the whole story before you sent me to that crazy place. There's this aristocrat, crazier than the rest of them if you can imagine it, and he kidnaps me. Right out of my hotel room. He drags me to his house, puts me in a dark room and ties me to a chair, then asks me a bunch of nonsense questions about some kind of flower. Cairo something, he called and. He kept demanding to know what I knew about it. I kept telling him I didn't know anything about some flower and he kept asking, like he didn't even hear me." Kensington had worked himself up into a lather at this point so he grabbed the pitcher on Isaac's table and two glasses and poured one for each before continuing his story.

"I played it smart with that guy. His name was Renard and he was a nasty sort, but I got away by being smart. Waited until he was out of the room, freed myself and walked out like I owned the place. Then I got the first method of transport back here and left while I was able."

"Did Ray know where you were going? Do you think he'll try to follow you here?" Isaac seemed very interested in the answer to this specific question.

"I don't know. There was some confusion about here and Egypt and some old letters so I'm not sure what they will do next.

"Well that's no help. How can I be in two places at once? I can't! I'll have to get help, have someone watch the place. Get someone to clean up your mess." Isaac grabbed his arm. "Come on then. Get moving. We've got to get to Cairo."

"I'm not going to Cairo!" Kensington all but stamped his foot in protest. Isaac just laughed at him.

"Yes you are. Get moving. I've got to make arrangements and you're in the way."

Isaac stormed out of the shop, a man with a mission, and Kensington trailed behind, half resentful, half resigned. He knew he shouldn't have taken this job.

XXXXX

"I trust you have good news?" Azura set his book down and gave Laurence his full attention. Laurence hated when he did that - it made him even more nervous.

"Yes, sir. Florian du Rochefort has been transferred to the accommodations you requested. The Cairo Rose is here," Laurence handed the box containing the necklace to Azura. "Renard was allowed to continue his journey as you commanded."

"Excellent." Azura opened the box and took out the Rose, examining it. Laurence cleared his throat to regain Azura's attention.

"There is one small matter, sir." Laurence swallowed hard at Azura's look and resumed speaking at a faster pace. "If I may suggest - you may wish to speak to your guest. Apparently he learned some interesting information about the Rose from Renard. Renard also appears to have marked Lord Rochefort - a tattoo of the Cairo Rose."

"Interesting." Azura considered this information in silence for a minute. "Very well, Laurence. You may go."

"Sir? One more thing, if I may? Lord Rochefort was... somewhat reluctant to come with us at first. He was in the middle of dinner and seemed rather put out to be taken away from his meal. He wanted to bring his dessert along with him."

"Really?" Azura's lips curved upwards in amusement. "Well then, by all means, Laurence, get the man some dessert." Laurence started to leave and Azura called him back. "Tell him that I will be visiting him soon, I believe we have several matters to discuss."

Laurence nodded and scurried away, leaving Azura alone with the Cairo Rose. He picked it up, but his thoughts were on his guest. He was looking forward to their conversation, and to the expression on Ray's face when he came to get his lover back.

XXXXX

"He's asleep. Finally. Whatever you have to tell him can wait a few hours." Laila crossed her arms and widened her stance, blocking the door to Ray's cabin. She put on her fiercest scowl.

"Fine, fine," Michel knew better than to argue. "At least let me tell you, so you can pass the word to Ray when he's awake." He held up a piece of paper and Laila could see a single line of text on it. He gestured for her to move away from Ray's door so they wouldn't disturb him.

"We're disembarking at the next port and heading for Cahors."

"What? Why?"

"Because that's where Florian is. Azura has him."

"No!" Laila's eyes went as wide as Michel had ever seen them. She glanced back towards Ray's door and when she turned back again, she had a determined set to her jaw. "How soon can we get there?"

"Not soon enough to make anyone happy. The message said: Meet in Cahors. Florian fine. And it was sent by Azura."

"Ray's going to be a wreck. You saw him last time. You saw both of them."

"I did. We'll get to Cahors as soon as we can, but we need to keep Ray occupied in the interim. Do you have any suggestions?" Michel looked so concerned that Laila rested a comforting hand on his arm.

"I have one. Well, two if you include getting him drunk. Get him talking about the secret of the Cairo Rose. Actually, you may want to drink while talking about that necklace, otherwise, he's going to be on deck pacing, or brooding."

"Drunk it is, then. Regardless, this is going to be a long day." He rested a hand on Laila's shoulder, noticing for the first time how tired she looked. "What about you? How are you holding up?"

"I'll be better once we've got Florian back. He's much better at keeping Ray amused on these long journeys."

"Don't underestimate yourself, Laila. Without out you, both of them would get into far more trouble than they already do." Laila snorted indelicately.

"They have a talent for it. Especially Florian. Who gets themselves kidnapped this many times? I've never been kidnapped – not once – and he's dragged off every few months like clockwork. The last time they practically begged us to take Florian back. He'd driven them half-crazy with ridiculous demands." She leaned in close, lowering her voice as if sharing a confidence, "He demanded marzipan in the middle of the night. Just sat down in a chair with his arms crossed and wouldn't move until they brought him some. He brought the tin along when Ray rescued him."

Michel laughed, his eyes searching hers to weigh the truth of her story. She was either a very good liar, or it was the truth. He considered for a minute before giving in – knowing Florian, it was probably the truth.

"Go get some sleep, Laila. Let me know when Ray's awake and I'll bring whatever's left of my private bar. Solomon's been helping himself; the man drinks like a sailor."

Laila laughed at Michel's exaggerated expression and waved him off. She really could use some sleep.

XXXXX

"Ray! Put that down." Natalie gave chase to her laughing son. He was running just as fast as his toddler legs could carry him. She caught up and hoisted him in the air, making him squeal with delight.

"Monkey," she teased him as she tried to pry the bracelet from his fist.

"Who's a monkey?" Benjamin asked, entering the room and setting his pile of books down on the table. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an orange. Ray reached for it eagerly. "Do monkeys like oranges?"

"Yes," Ray giggled, still struggling to reach the orange. Natalie shifted him to make it easier to settle him in his chair at the table. Benjamin used his belt knife to cut the top of the orange off and quickly pealed it, breaking the fruit into sections which he shared among the three of them. Natalie leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed.

"Busy day?"

"Yes. Tilly and Addy stopped by with more work and wanted to know when I could come back to the site. I was thinking next week should be good, if you agree. I can even take Ray with me if I can't find someone to watch him."

"Find out when they need you and I'll check my schedule. I'm still helping the professor with his research, but I should be able to do some of the work at home."

"Like tonight?" she teased, tapping the stack of books.

"You know me too well." He pulled her into his arms and together they watched as Ray played with the three remaining sections of orange. "It will be hard to leave this."

"Benjamin," Natalie shifted so she could see his face. "Has something happened?"

"No, nothing. But eventually we will have to return to my home. I am trying to learn all I can to be a good leader, but it will be different there. These quiet times will be rare."

"You'll be a good leader, Benjamin. Don't worry about us, we'll make our quiet times."

"Not too quiet," Benjamin replied, laughing, as Ray began to sing very loudly.

"That will be okay too," Natalie assured him, taking his hand and twining their fingers together.

At the table, Ray continued to sing.

XXXXX

"How do I get myself into these things?" Laurence muttered as he trailed Florian into a bookstore. Azura had left him in charge of their "guest" and Florian had been asking questions and making demands all day. It was driving Laurence to distraction, so he'd finally offered Florian a deal: he would escort Florian to the excellent bookstore near their hotel if Florian gave his word of honor as a gentleman that he would not do anything to cause trouble or try to escape. Florian had considered it for a long time before agreeing, offering a handshake to seal their agreement.

Laurence just hoped they were back before Azura returned. He knew it was taking a risk, but he hoped that buying Florian a couple of books would make everyone less irritable. Laurence didn't know the history between Azura and Florian, but clearly there was one. Around him Florian was stubborn and demanding, but as soon as Azura entered the suite where Florian was staying the atmosphere changed and Florian became nervous and wary. Hopefully Count Courland would arrive soon to reclaim his companion. Laurence had enough to do without having to babysit.

"You don't have to follow me. I've already given my promise not to leave." Florian was in a much better mood now that he was out of the hotel. He seemed to be enjoying himself, taking his time in looking at all the books the shop had to offer. He was only part-way through and already there was a worrying large pile set aside.

"I said one or two books, not the entire store." Laurence didn't have that kind of money to spend and he valued his life too much to ask Azura for reimbursement.

"Those are possibilities. I can't choose until I see what my options are." Florian plucked another book from the shelf and shoved it at Laurence who read the title with raised eyebrows. Without thinking, he opened the book and started skimming.

"Interesting," Florian's tone drew Laurence's attention from the book. When he looked up, he was nearly hit in the face by Florian's new discovery.

"Famous Jewels – Legends and Lore," Laurence read the title aloud. Before he could take the book, Florian pulled it back and started reading the table of contents. "Cairo Rose," he tapped the book triumphantly before flipping to the correct page. He scanned the pages quickly, then handed it over for Laurence to see.

When Laurence looked up again, eyes wide, Florian was holding two books and the rest had been abandoned.

"Time to go back," Florian said as he plucked the volume of Famous Jewels from Laurence's hands and added it to his pile.

"At least we know the purpose of my new tattoo, Florian said lightly as they walked back to the hotel carrying their purchases. He kept up the falsely cheerful chatter until they reached the hotel. Once back in his room he asked Laurence for tea and picked up the lore book, going back to the section on the Cairo Rose and reading through it slowly, looking for any details he'd missed.

"Thank you." Florian took the tea cup Laurence offered, wrapping his hands around it and taking comfort from the heat. It wasn't cold outside or in the room, but Florian's hands were shaking. He let Laurence take the Famous Jewels book and used the time to think.

Florian had been trying his best to stay in control, to not let his fear and apprehension show, but being in Azura's presence was more difficult than he could have imagined. In fact, he'd made a point not to imagine it. Now that he was here, he had to find a way to keep himself safe. He regretted taking his frustration out on Laurence earlier by acting like a spoiled aristocrat. He didn't think he could count on him being an ally, but he might at least serve as a buffer if he could just keep him around. He hoped that Azura wouldn't ... touch him again with someone else in the room.

Florian knew he couldn't escape; he was alone in a strange town with only the clothes on his back and the lingering ache of his new tattoo. He wouldn't pretend that he could outwit or out fight Azura and his people so Florian's only option was to distract Azura. Azura, like Ray, couldn't resist a good mystery. The book containing the legend of the Cairo Rose might be enough to keep Azura distracted until Ray arrived.

If nothing else, Florian hoped Azura would put his considerable resources towards investigating the Cairo Rose. The tale he'd read in the Famous Jewels book seemed more fancy than fact but Florian couldn't afford to dismiss it so entirely - not with the new tattoo on his chest and Renard's words still fresh in his mind. As much as it unsettled him, Florian had to ask Azura for his help.

XXXXX

Perrin Renard was livid. It was bad enough to have been betrayed by his temporary ally, although he wasn't completely shocked by it, but to have lost the Rose. He'd even lost that stupid boy, Ray's papered little pet. Renard wouldn't usually care about that boy, not beyond the fact that he hated losing anything, but the loss of both the Rose and the tattoo...

"Williams!" Renard shouted, ignoring the fact that the man was just on the other side of the room busy packing Renard's suitcase.

"Yes, sir?" The man sprang to attention, earning a laugh from his master. He didn't even flinch this time.

"Take only the necessities; leave the rest. I want to arrive in Cairo well before the others. I believe we should prepare a suitable welcome for them, don't you agree?. Renard plucked the white king and queen off the board and tossed them to Wilkins to pack.

He caught a glimpse of the discarded towel used when Florian had been given the tattoo. Renard picked it up and unfolded the cloth, staring at the near-perfect copy of the rose imprinted on the towel in Florian's blood. Renard folded the towel and carried it over to Wilkins, handing it off and watching as it was packed.

Perhaps the matter wasn't completely hopeless, but that didn't mean he was going to change his plans. Revenge was sweet, and Renard had an insatiable appetite for sweets.

XXXXX


	4. Chapter 4

"It's not working," Ray informed them, fixing his gaze on Laila, Michel and Solomon in turn. "You might as well tell me whatever it is that you are trying to hide; your attempts to distract me aren't working."

"What makes you think we're trying to distract you?" Solomon asked, earning an look halfway between irritated and disgusted in return.

"You expect me to believe that you're hovering like vultures because you have nothing better to do?"

"Yes?" Michel said, offering his cheesiest smile. Laila just shook her head; she knew better than to try such cheap tactics.

"We've been talking about Cahors." They hadn't, really, other than determining that, of the three of them, only Michel had been there before, and it as so long ago he barely remembered his visit.

"I've been there," Ray told them. "Nice place, but why are we talking about it?"

"Because that's where we're going when we disembark at the next port?" Solomon had drawn the short straw in telling Ray about their change of plans.

"I'm sure you have a reason," Ray said, his voice turning hard.

"Florian," Michel offered, unable to remain silent any longer. "He's in Cahors and we're going to get meet him there."

"How did Florian get to Cahors? When I went to sleep, he was Renard's prisoner and was being taken to Morocco."

"A lot has happened since then," Laila said quietly, taking a seat beside him. "Florian is no longer with Renard."

"Then who is he with? I can't imagine him wandering off to Cahors by himself."

"He's not alone," Solomon assured him, taking the lead in the conversation no one wanted to have. "Florian's with Azura."

To Solomon's and Michel's surprise, Ray didn't shout or jump up and start pacing. Instead, he went completely still, his eyes fixed on Laila's. She let him look until he apparently saw what he needed.

"The arrangements are made. We'll be in Cahors tomorrow evening," Michel offered, trying to reassure his cousin.

Ray simply nodded and turned to Laila, who had gone to get him a drink without being asked. She handed it over silently and watched as he drank it all. She returned the empty glass to the table and sat down at Ray's side.

"I've ordered a meal for us. We'll eat in my cabin if there are no objections; the table is larger. I've also pulled some maps we might want to consult for the next part of our journey." Michel nodded to Solomon. "We'll leave you to freshen up and join us in thirty minutes." Without waiting for an answer, Michel and Solomon left, closing the door softly behind them.

"Ray?" Laila asked tentatively. Ray turned to look at her again and she pulled back at the look of fury in his eyes.

"There's nothing we can do," he told her, his voice raspy. He clenched his hands into fists and Laila wrapped her hands around them, trying to comfort Ray with her presence. Michel's story of the Cairo Rose could wait, this wasn't the time for fairy tales.

XXXXX

"Aren't you enjoying your meal?" Azura regarded Florian's nearly untouched plate with concern. "Would you prefer something else?"

"No, thank you. The food is very good, I'm just not very hungry." Florian managed a polite smile, but it was taking far too much of his willpower to keep from shaking apart. He knew Azura was aware of how frightened he was, but didn't understand why Azura wasn't using it to his advantage. Instead, Florian had been invited into Azura's rooms and treated to what appeared to be an excellent dinner, complete with a rare local wine.

"I understand you and Laurence saw a little of this fine city this afternoon." Azura was eating at a leisurely pace and offering light dinner conversation. He was even wearing a suit rather than his usual robes, and he had his long silver hair tied back. If Florian closed his eyes, he could pretend he was at any one of the hundreds of dinner parties he'd attended. But he wasn't in Paris, and Azura was not one of Florian's peers.

"You've gone pale," Azura said, and for a moment there was a gleam in his eye that made Florian's blood run cold.

"I'm fine, but thank you for asking" he said, somehow managing to keep his voice mild and even. If he could get through this evening unmolested, he'd allow himself to panic later, in private.

"Laurence tells me that you found something interesting at the bookshop." Azura was cutting his entrée with easy precision, slicing through the meat as if it were butter. Watching it was making Florian lightheaded.

"There was a book of legends and lore associated with famous jewels. It includes a chapter about the Cairo Rose." Without realizing it, Florian's hand came up and hovered over, but didn't touch his chest where his new tattoo was hidden under the fine new suit Azura had provided him.

"Interesting," Azura commented mildly. "You've read it, of course, did you learn anything of interest."

"It was quite informative," Florian was surprised at how calm he sounded. He felt as if he could fly apart, but the longer this farce of a meal went on, the better control Florian had over his body. "The Cairo Rose isn't an actual flower, it's a symbol. There was a secret sect originally from Babylonia that was responsible for guarding a priceless treasure. They built a false tomb, complete with sarcophagus and hid this treasure underneath, accessible only by navigating a maze of elaborate traps. As far as anyone knows, the treasure has never been found."

"But this sect is still in existence?" Azura had finished eating and laid his silverware across the plate. The room, including the table was lit with candles and what felt far too intimate an atmosphere for dinner was perfect for talking about ancient treasure.

"Apparently. Renard said that the Rose necklace was modeled after a tattoo like mine." Florian lifted his hand again, very aware of the ache in his chest. Laurence had given him some lotion to help ease the pain and it had dulled the throbbing to an ache. He was grateful that lessening the pain had helped clear his mind; he needed to be clear-headed when he was with Azura.

"Was there any indication of what the treasure was?" Azura's single eye appeared to glitter in the candlelight, and Florian had a sudden, vivid memory of standing in a hidden treasure room watching Ray and Azura struggle. There had been torchlight, and unimaginable riches, but Florian had nearly lost his life and his most precious treasure when the walls gave way and he and Ray nearly drowned.

"Not really?" Florian stammered when Azura cleared his throat pointedly, bringing Florian back to the present. "There was a cryptic phrase about a golden tongue, but that was all."

"I see," Azura picked up the small bell that had been resting on the table beside his plate, ringing it to signal Laurence. The man must have been waiting outside the door because he arrived within seconds.

"Sir?" he asked, immediately starting to clear the table.

"Bring me the book you found today. We'll take dessert later."

"Yes, sir." Laurence took Florian's plate and stacked it on top of Azura's before hurrying out of the room.

"I would have retrieved the book if you'd asked," Florian said, his eyes still on the door where Laurence had exited.

"I didn't ask," Azura pointed out. He stood up, extending his hand to Florian. "I believe we will be more comfortable elsewhere."

Florian ignored the hand, but stood, placing his hands in his pockets before following Azura to two comfortable chairs near the fireplace. There was a small fire to take the chill off the evening and the light made everything look deceptively cozy.

Florian remained standing beside his chair, watching Azura warily until the man was seated. Azura looked up at him with a predatory grin and Florian's chest tightened. Without a thought he took a step back. He barely had time to register Azura's movement before he was trapped in the man's embrace.

"You seem to think," Azura purred into Florian's ear, "that things have changed between us just because I rescued you from Renard. They have not. Now sit."

Florian sat.

If Laurence was aware of the increased tension in the room, he didn't let it show. He handed the book to Azura and retreated without a word. Azura didn't even spare him a glance.

The book was old and heavy with thick parchment pages and lovely color illustrations. There were chapters on haunted diamonds, blood-tinted rubies, and legendary sapphires but the one Azura was interested in was towards the back. He flipped to the marker that Laurence had left and started to read.

Beside him, Florian stared into the fire and let his mind drift. Usually he would stay alert, but Azura had provided a vivid reminder that there was Florian could do to protect himself in his present situation, and he needed not to think for a little while.

It was a small fire, but it was hot and in some places the flames burned white among the yellow and orange. Florian had been fascinated by fire as a child and mother has had to scold him often to keep back so he wouldn't get burned.

The thought opened a flood of unwelcome images, all the terrible things he'd imagined since his mother perished in their burning home. He'd had nightmares about it for a while, the heat of fire mixing with the burning sun of Morocco, leaving him feverish and gasping for air. Ray had kept a pitcher of water at Florian's bedside, dowsing him if all other efforts to wake him failed.

Florian wished he had some water now, Selfishly, he also wished for Ray. He had no idea what would happen when the former friends saw each other again, but he still longed for the safety and comfort of Ray's embrace. Florian needed something to wipe away the memory of Azura's arms around him.

A sharp tapping drew Florian's attention and he looked up into Azura's gaze. The man was smirking at him and it took all of his considerable training not to respond childishly.

"Yes?" Florian asked, deliberately elongating the word.

"If this is to be believed, the treasure is hidden in a false tomb outside of Cairo. The only person who can enter is one who wears the mark of the rose. That person must face three great trials: one of the mind, one of the heart and one of the body."

Azura pushed the book to the center of the little table and rose, taking two steps to tower over Florian. He grabbed Florian's arm and pulled him upright, shoving aside cloth and working at fasteners as Florian tried ineffectually to push him away.

Florian had gone ghost pale and his hands trembled as he tried to stop Azura from undressing him. Azura brushed his efforts aside as if they were nothing, pulling and pushing cloth and fasteners until Florian's shirt was undone and his chest bared.

When Florian pulled back and nearly stumbled over the chair, Azura twisted him around and shoved him back against the wall. Glaring a warning, Azura lowered his head to examine the tattoo again. He placed his hand over it, noting how Florian flinched in pain at the contact to his still-reddened flesh.

Mimicking Renard's earlier motions, Azura traced the pattern with his finger, using first the fingertip and then the nail. Pinned and helpless, Florian whimpered. Azura looked at his again, still smirking, and then lowered his head until his lips were touching skin. To Florian's horror, Azura opened his mouth and started tracing the approximate pattern with his tongue.

His whole body trembling helplessly, all Florian could do was close his eyes and wait for it to be over. It was a shock when, a minute later, Azura pulled back. His lips were shiny and he looked well satisfied with himself. The look made Florian feel ill.

"Did you think I was going to do more?" Azura asked, his voice silky as his hand stroked Florian' hair. When Florian stubbornly refused to answer, Azura laughed. He released his grip and stepped back, snapping his fingers to call Laurence.

"Take our guest back to his room and have him lie down. He's not feeling well." When Laurence moved to comply Azura stopped him, leaning in to whisper in Florian's ear, "Don't flatter yourself, pet. I've already had you and you weren't that entertaining."

XXXXX

Perrin Renard didn't believe in chance, he believed in planning. It all came back to chess.

Two chess pieces sat on the table in front of him, the white king and white queen. He'd imagined Ray as the powerful queen and Florian as the restricted king, but perhaps that wasn't the case at all.

It was unusual for him to make such a grave miscalculation. He'd been lured into complacency by Romwell's reputation and had no one but himself to blame for the result. He should have expected Romwell to have his own agenda – he'd agreed to Renard's plan far too readily. What Renard didn't know was Romwell's motivation for taking Florian and the Rose.

Renard was confident enough in his own skill that he could understand if Romwell had stolen his plan, but he was equally confident in his intuition, and that told him there was more at work here than Romwell simply taking advantage of a brilliant scheme.

No, the more Renard thought about it, the more convinced he was that Romwell had some deeper motivation. Perhaps it was that the rumored association between Romwell and Ray Courland was less financial and more personal than anyone suspected.

And what of Florian? Despite his somewhat fragile appearance, the man was no wilting flower. That was another miscalculation on Renard's part. Renard had no patience for pampered aristocrats with too high an opinion of themselves, and that's exactly what he'd expected from Florian. Instead, he'd gotten something much more interesting: a man who didn't quit when things became difficult; a man who bore pain without crying out; a man who held his head up proudly even when his opponent had every advantage. Oh, yes, interesting indeed.

He understood, now, why Ray was so enamored of his companion and wondered if that was the reason for Romwell's interest too.

It was understandable, he decided. Romwell, Ray and himself weren't all that different. They understood how to wield power. They could be ruthless if necessary. They knew how to strategize, and they all had an appreciation for beautiful things.

Beautiful things like the Cairo Rose. Renard looked down at the towel with its blood-stained imprint of a rose and smiled, remembering the way the rose tattoo had taken shape on Florian's pale chest. It had been fascinating to watch as each petal of the rose was formed, a permanent sign of Renard's control over the man. Even if they never saw each other once Renard had the treasure, Florian would never be able to forget that he'd once been this man's possession.

Renard threw his head back and laughed, delighted by the very thought.

XXXXX

"We're so glad you could visit us one last time before you leave," Tilly said as she released Natalie from a tight embrace. Addy was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, the tears leaving streaks in the dust covering her face and hands.

"We're leaving in the morning, but I couldn't go without saying goodbye." Natalie was a little teary-eyed herself. She looked around the dig site where she'd spent so much time and the ache of leaving her friends, of leaving this place that she'd grown to love, filled her chest.

"How is Benjamin's father?" Addy asked, eyes soft with concern. Benjamin had received word that he was needed at home as soon as possible and they hoped the situation wasn't as serious as they feared it to be.

Benjamin had been away a long time, working and studying to be worthy of inheriting his father's position as clan head, but he was in no hurry to actually take over. He'd be content to wait for years, easing into the job before taking on the responsibilities of a leader.

"We're hoping for the best," Natalie assured them, putting on a brave smile. "I've been looking forward to meeting my father-in-law, and introducing him to his first grandchild."

"How is Ray? The last time we saw him he had grown so much."

"And eating to match," Natalie assured them. "He's got so much energy I can barely keep up with him. Thank goodness Hashina is traveling with us. She's so good with Ray and he loves her. I don't know what I'd do without her help."

"I'm glad you'll have help," Addy said sincerely before glancing over at Tilly. "I know you can't stay long, but I was hoping we should show you something. It was discovered just yesterday."

"So the gossip hasn't gotten out about it yet," Tilly added, giving Natalie a conspiratorial wink.

They took a ladder down into the dig and descended a set of wide, flat, stone stairs that ended in a small room that had been partially excavated. There was a grotesque bas-relief on the left wall of a large mouth with dozens of overlapping tongues extending outward. From a distance it almost looked like a flower, but a few steps closer and all you could see were tongues.

"Whatever does it mean?" Natalie asked, her curiosity making her forget her concerns about traveling such a distance and then meeting not just Benjamin's family, but his entire clan. She hadn't decided if, by the time they arrived in Arabia, she'd be a nervous wreck, or she'd have fallen back on her training for Parisian society, and be coolly controlled. Most likely it would be a confusing mix of the two, and Benjamin would hug her tightly and then laugh at her.

"Terrible, isn't? Tilly asked, scowling at the carving.

"And unusual," Addy said, looking at Natalie. "It's not like any other Egyptian carving we've found, not from this or any other time period. It's close, but there are some distinct differences." She pointed up to two recesses carved into the wall above the mouth, but very close to the ceiling.

"If you step back they look like eyes," Natalie said, her own eyes going wide. "But they're different - more round, as if there should be something in those recesses. Special stones, perhaps."

"That's what we thought, but nothing that we've found on the site so far would fit those spaces."

Natalie was looking up at the empty eyes, thinking hard. Her hand went to the topaz brooch she wore on her top. Benjamin had had the topazes that Tilly and Addy had given her set in elegant gold settings. She touched the smooth stone absently gauging the size.

"The stones would have to be about as big as this one," she tapped the brooch for emphasis.

"I believe you're right," Tilly exclaimed before saying, "Oh that old stone cleaned up nicely. And the setting is exquisite." She hesitated on reaching out to touch the pin. "May I?"

"Let's go back first," Addy suggested. "It's too dim in here to see." So they climbed back up to the surface and went to their work tent for some refreshment. After they were seated, Natalie unpinned the brooch and handed it to Tilly.

"Benjamin had a local artist make the settings for both stones and I sent one to Helene. I still haven't heard from her directly, but in Mother's last letter she mentioned that Helene had been traveling with her son, so perhaps the mail just hasn't reached her yet."

"The post is terrible," Tilly agreed, before launching into a funny story about a parcel from her good friend in England that arrived in terrible condition and contained one sock and a mismatched pair of mittens.

"I don't even know why she would send mittens," Tilly concluded. "It's not as if we get much snow here in Cairo."

"She's a compulsive knitter," Addy interjected with a wide grin. "She'd run out of people in England who are willing to take her mittens so she's sending them to the four corners. Everyone in Cairo will have a pair eventually."

"It's true," Tilly agreed with only a small laugh. Her attention was focused on the brooch. "There's a tiny rose here, cleverly worked into the setting. I wonder why the artist did that?"

"Maybe it's his way of signing the piece," Natalie said, accepting the brooch from Tilly and refastening it to her clothes. "I like it, it'll be our secret."

The three ladies laughed, and Addy poured lemonade for them all to enjoy. They chatted for another half-hour and then Natalie regretfully said that she had to leave. She gave Tilly and Addy each a tight hug and promised to write when she could.

While they had been in the tent, clouds had rolled in, making the sky overcast. When she stepped outside, the change made her shiver.

XXXXX

"Gentlemen and Lady," Laurence stepped forward to greet Ray and his companions as they disembarked from the carriage that had carried them for the last part of their journey to Cahors. It was early evening and the sky was clear and full of stars, but still, he wanted to get them inside and settled as soon as possible.

"If you would follow me to your rooms? The arrangements have all been taken care of." Laurence tried to take Laila's suitcase and almost lost his balance when she refused to let go.

"Alright them," Laurence conceded, blinking when Michel shoved his suitcase into Laurence's hands in place of Laila's. Long past worrying over the ways of aristocrats, Laurence escorted them up to the second floor where he pointed out their rooms. Azura had told him to handle the arrangements so he had gotten separate rooms for each of them. It was up to them whether they were all used or not, but Laurence wasn't about to make guesses about that.

"Thank you," Ray said flatly. "Where's Florian?"

"He's in his room upstairs. Shall I escort you?"

"Yes," Ray answered through gritted teeth. He'd been patient, no matter how reluctantly, and now he was done. He wanted his lover.

Laila, Michel and Solomon were wise enough to stay behind when Laurence led an impatient Ray up the stairs to the next floor where Florian and Azura were staying. Laurence pointed out but didn't stop at Azura's suite, proceeding instead to Florian's. The door opened on the first knock.

"Ray!"Acutely aware that a hotel hallway was public space, Florian could only reach out and grasp Ray's hands. Even that was simple tough was enough to make Florian's breathing ragged so he used the grip to drag a very willing Ray across the threshold.

"I'll just... check on you later." Laurence stammered, looking as if that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"No," Ray told him without bothering to actually look at Laurence, "We'll find you when we need something." And without a care for manners, Ray broke contact with Florian long enough to push Laurence out the door, closing and locking it behind him.

"Finally," Laurence muttered, starting towards Azura's door to inform him that his guests had arrived. There was still dinner to be arranged, and whatever demands the new arrivals might make all before Laurence could have a moment to himself so he lingered in the hallway just a moment and tried not to wish for a good, stiff drink.

XXXXX

"Off," Ray growled, his hands working frantically at Florian's clothes. "Take these off." He managed to unfasten Florian's shirt, but when he went to remove it, he unknowingly brushed against Florian's tattoo and the man gasped.

"Who did this?" Ray demanded, his hands still tangled in Florian's shirt as he stared at the reddened mark. "Who did this to you?"

"Renard," Florian gasped, finally managing to free his arms enough to bring them up and touch Ray. "I'm fine," he whispered, his voice raspy. "Ray, I'm alright."

"The bastard marked you," Ray bit out, hanging on to his temper only for Florian's sake. "He touched you."

"That's all he did, Ray. I promise. Florian rested a hand against Ray's cheek. "He didn't do anything else."

"Don't defend him," Ray snarled. "Don't you dare defend what he's done to you."

"Stop it, Ray. Just stop. It's my body; I get to decide whether to be upset about this." Florian tilted his head, trying to catch Ray's gaze. "I'm not happy, not at all, but it's not the worst that could have happened." He offered a small smile, "At least the tattoo's based on a legendary jewel; you ought to appreciate that."

Ray wrapped himself around his lover, holding on tight and speaking into his hair, "I'm the only one allowed to mark you."

"Will it help if I give you my permission to punish Renard if we ever see him again?" Florian asked, before deciding he'd better clarify that statement. "I wouldn't object if you left a mark or two of your own on Monsieur Renard."

"Noted," Ray managed a smile before he slid his hands downward and started undoing the fasteners on Florian's trousers. He laughed when Florian did that little hip wiggle that helped remove his pants faster. They were tossed aside with the rest of his clothing and soon followed by Ray's. Laurence would probably have a fit about the wrinkles.

Ray didn't ask about Azura as he guided Florian down onto the bed, not bothering to pull back the comforter. He used his hands and his mouth to explore everywhere, to re-map the contours of Florian's body, only avoiding the newly-marked skin.

Florian held himself as still as he could, using only his hands to offer comforting touches while Ray lavished him with attention. They'd done this before, lost each other and their equilibrium. Giving Ray complete control was how they found it again.

"Let's not talk for a while," Florian said with a suggestive smile, earning a well placed nibble. He writhed as he always did when Ray hit that exact spot and then gasped when Ray grabbed him and rolled them both over. They were on the very edge of the bed, and one wrong movement could send them over, but Florian knew it would never happen. Ray would never let it happen.

The surety of that knowledge nearly overwhelmed him; he'd been so afraid. It wasn't just the fear itself that caused him to tear up, but the understanding that the only place it was safe to express that fear was the very place he least wanted to make it known. Ray had too much responsibility already; especially for those things that he should not be responsible for. Florian didn't want to be one more burden weighing Ray down.

He wanted to provide the same care and protection that Ray gave him. If he couldn't be Ray's equal in physical ways, fighting off enemies or performing daring escapes, then at least he could be a safe haven for Ray's fragile heart.

That surge of protectiveness made Florian want to turn Ray over and cover him, to physically shield him while Ray set aside his responsibilities, real and assumed. But what Florian wanted, wasn't what was best for Ray, and tonight, and for as many nights as it took them to return to their own bed, Florian would put Ray's needs first.

"What are you waiting for," Florian kept his tone light as he ran his hands down Ray's sides; Ray was ticklish, and claimed to hate that, but he never made Florian stop.

"Demanding," Ray teased as he reached for the oil. Florian stopped him.

"Test me first," Florian urged, knowing that Ray would always harbor an unspoken fear that Azura had forced Florian again, unless he checked for himself.

It was only one finger, pressing against and then inside, but it hurt. Florian held himself silent and as still as he could while Ray pressed in deeper. He didn't bite his lip or flinch when Ray continued to explore, making absolutely sure that Florian hadn't been violated.

It was only after Ray had withdrawn and kissed him that Florian started to tremble.

"Only you. Please, Ray. I only ever want you."

This time there was scented oil and distracting kisses as well as probing fingers. Florian relaxed under the familiar touch and opened eagerly when Ray settled on top of him. He closed his eyes as Ray entered him, allowing himself to pretend, just for now, that they were home in their comfortable bed, far away from troubles and distractions.

Ray's movements were sharp and needy, his fingers pressing bruises into flesh. Florian welcomed and encouraged it, making a few marks of his own. When the tempo increased all they could do was cling to each.

Ray went over first, shuddering and gasping, with Florian following soon after. They held each other just as tightly as they recovered, until, finally, finally, their breathing and their heartbeats were in sync and they could rest.

XXXXX

"Sleep well?" Azura asked as soon as Ray emerged from the bedroom of his suite, hair rumpled and wearing only a towel.

"Better for having Florian back where he belongs," Ray assured him, picking up the coffee urn and pouring himself a cup, appreciating the fragrant steam. He hadn't slept that long but he felt sluggish. He tapped the urn and, when Azura nodded, poured him a cup as well.

Taking a seat in the only unoccupied armchair, he leaned back and held the cup in his hands, looking off into the middle distance.

"Not a word of thanks?" Azura asked after the silence had stretched on for a while. In the other room, Florian shifted and mumbled, but didn't wake.

"You have my thanks for rescuing Florian from Renard, and for making all the arrangements to get us here and provide us with accommodations." Ray took a sip of his coffee, testing it and deciding it was acceptable. He was very particular about his coffee.

"You're welcome," Azura replied. He seemed amused and Ray wasn't sure why. "Oh relax, Ray. I didn't bed your little pet, and I didn't bring you here for any other reason than to teach Renard a lesson." Azura picked up a book that had been resting against the leg of his chair and opened it to a marked page.

"Renard is after something much greater than he can comprehend. He stumbled on some fairy tales about the Cairo Rose that has him believing it's the key to a great treasure." Azura pointed out an illustration of a room full of gold and jewels. Below it was another illustration and this one had a face carved on the wall and underneath it were an array of kneeling people all with their mouths open, as if they were speaking in unison.

"The second image is what I believe to be the true story rather than Renard's fantasy treasure. If my sources are to be believed, then the Cairo Rose is the key to universal communication."

"One language," Ray said, looking at Azura in wonder. "But that was lost..."

"With the fall of the tower of Babel. Yes, that's what the stories tell us. But if you look closely-" He pointed to the picture of the carving again. "The style is close, but it doesn't actually match the Egyptian art of that time period."

"No," Ray agreed after examining the book for several minutes," there's a definite Babylonian influence here-" He pointed to the eyes in the carving, "and here." He pointed to the shape of the faces of the kneeling figures. It's a good attempt at copying another art style, but it's definitely a copy."

"What we're looking for isn't a room for a baubles," Azura said with an almost feral grin. "We're looking for the key to one of the greatest of all possible treasures; most likely a language primer either on stone tablets or scrolls." Azura leaned back, his eyes locked onto Ray's. "I don't have to tell you what will happen if that fool Renard finds them before we do."

"He's likely to destroy them, or sell them without understanding what they are," Ray agreed, horrified at the thought of that precious knowledge being lost. He knew the tower of Babel story, of course, how all people had once shared a common language and an effort was made to build a tower to reach to the heavens. The story said that an angry God had stopped the tower by shattering the one language into many and scattering the people across the earth. Ray had always thought of it as just a myth, but if there really was a universal language...

"I've missed that," Azura said softly, leaning forward to touch Ray's face. "That hunger you carry. The others were content with food in their bellies and a warm place to sleep, but you needed to know." Azura closed his eye for just a moment and when he opened it again, he spoke as if he were in pain, "You were the only one who ever understood."

"I would have died without you," Ray confessed, thinking of the way he'd allowed possessive hands to touch him in exchange for a few coins. The bodies were all so much bigger than Ray, towering over him and blocking out the sun. It was Azura that had taught him the beauty of darkness, and Azura that brought him into the light.

He'd never admit it to Florian, but there were times when Ray missed his old friend so much it hurt. But it was Azura that had caused the rift between them; Azura that had tainted his beautiful Florian. Ray wasn't sure how he could forgive Azura for that.

"We shared everything," Azura said mildly, still remembering their childhood days spent living on the streets of Fez. "We never had to ask, whatever one of us had, the other was welcome to." Azura leaned forward, pouring himself another cup of coffee as he asked, "How was I to know the rules had changed?"

"No!" Ray snatched the coffee urn away, forcing Azura to look at him. "You don't get to pretend that was an innocent mistake. You drugged him and took him against his will before sending an assassin to kill him." Ray set the urn down with a clack and placed both hands on the table, leaning forward. "What you did to me doesn't matter; we have history together, but Florian was innocent. He couldn't hurt you. He wouldn't even have shot you if he wasn't defending me."

"He defied me, Ray."

"So did I. Or have you forgotten the way we used to fight? Neither of us was blameless, Azura, but we were always friends. Ray dropped down into his seat, looking defeated. "Why Florian?"

"Because he was yours, Ray. He had a part of you that I never did."

"And you have a part of me that he never will. You can't have all of another person, and if you care for them, you wouldn't want it."

"Spoken like a man who has what he wants," Azura replied neutrally.

"I can't... I can't ever forgive you for what you did to Florian but... but I think we could find a way to be civil to each other. Or at least stop fighting." Ray leaned forward, his eyes pleading for that small concession.

"Civil," Azura considered the word as if the thought had never occurred to him. "An alliance," he suggested as a counter-offer, then added, "Temporary."

Ray flinched, but then firmed his jaw and nodded. "Fine. We can always reconsider the situation after this is over." He held his hand out for a formal handshake, but Azura just grabbed it and pulled him down into an embrace and then a kiss. It was warm and familiar and made Ray ache just a little as he let it linger much longer than necessary.

XXXXX

Ethan Kensington missed Paris. Sure, he'd been kidnapped there, but at least he was able to do things on his own. Ever since returning to Morocco, he'd been forced to serve as Isaac's errand boy. That was bad enough when they were in Morocco, or while they were traveling, but now that they were in Egypt, it was becoming annoying.

"Took you long enough," Isaac scolded when Ethan returned to their rented rooms with their dinner. Isaac kept leaving to visit people, snapping out a list of chores to keep Ethan busy while Isaac was out. Ethan ignored most of the orders at first, but by now he was so bored he'd do just about anything to keep from staring at the walls.

The dinner didn't occupy him for long, and Isaac didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, so Ethan had taken to staring out the window. He was drifting, not really watching the flow of people until a familiar head of platinum blond hair caught his attention.

"Isaac," he hissed. He didn't want to raise his voice and be overheard by anyone outside, so he settled for waving his arms to get the older man's attention.

"What is it? You having a fit?"

"No. Look there. It's Renard." Kensington turned worried eyes towards his traveling companion. "He's here."

"Of course he's here," Isaac snapped. "What did I tell you; they're all going to be here - Renard, Azura and Ray. That's what we're waiting for."

"But why?"

"Because there's something I've been waiting a very long time to do, and I can't do it until they are here." He looked at Kensington critically, assessing him, before motioning for him to stand. "Come on then. Hurry up. I need to show you something."

A shiver of worry coursed down Kensington's spine but he ignored it; grateful for the chance to get outside and find out why he'd been dragged all the way to Cairo.

XXXXX

Natalie ran. She had a tight grip on Ray's hand, towing him along as fast as his little feet could carry him. They had a very small head start, but it wouldn't last for long if they didn't move.

"Let me," one of her guards offered, scooping Ray up into his arms without breaking stride. They could move faster, but now she was the one slowing them down.

It had happened so suddenly: the intruders, the screaming, the blood. She hadn't even been able to touch Benjamin one last time, to assure herself that he was truly dead, although his wounds made it clear that he was gone. She had only the clothes she'd been wearing, no money, not even a pair of shoes. There had barely been enough time to grab Ray and run.

There had been three men with them at first, the last of her husband's loyal guardsmen. The others were all wounded or dead as were many of the clan. The images played in Natalie's mind every time she slowed down.

"Hurry," the man closest to her urged as they ran, stumbling along in the middle of the night.

She knew why they were being chased; whoever had done this wanted control of the clan. To have that, they needed her and Ray dead. So she ignored the stones that tore at her feet and the tears that stung her eyes and kept running.

And when her guard was slowly reduced to two, then one, and eventually none, she just held on to Ray and kept running.

XXXXX

Laurence had never been so happy to see land. He stood on deck with the rest of the curious or impatient passengers and watched as the ship was secured. Below on the dock crowds of people moved with purpose, some leaving, some arriving, and some just trying to do their jobs.

He'd already packed Azura's belongings and arrangements had been made for transport and lodging. In an hour, perhaps two at the most, they would be settled in to their hotel and Laurence might manage a few minutes to himself. With luck he'd get lost in the market and not find the hotel for a while.

He wasn't really complaining, he reminded himself. Counts Courland and the rest weren't that difficult to manage, and even Florian was cooperative now that Ray had arrived. But Azura seemed to delight in making unreasonable demands and watching Laurence scramble to meet them. It was exhausting.

To make matters worse, he understood that they were off on some kind of a treasure hunt. It was practically all any of them had talked about for days and it was driving him mad. If he was lucky, Azura wouldn't want him along for this expedition of theirs and he could spend time at the comfortable hotel, maybe even order some room service and be the one being waited on for a change. It sounded delightful.

XXXXX

"What are we looking for?" Michel asked again as he poked idly through another table of books. He'd already asked that question three times.

"The Legend of the Cairo Rose," Solomon answered in a monotone, hoping Michel would get the clue and remember this time. He didn't expect it to happen. It was bad enough he'd ended up having to share a room with him while they were in Cairo, but Solomon had no intention of being his babysitter.

"Go look over there," he suggested, making a vague waving motion towards the farthest table. Michel set out agreeably and was back in less than five minutes with a book in his hand.

"Something like this?" he asked, holding "Cairo" under his nose. Solomon took the book and flipped through it finding nothing related to the famous necklace. "Not quite," he said when he handed it back. "Keep trying."

He regretted those words when, every few minutes, Michel interrupted Solomon to show him books, none of which had anything to do with the Cairo Rose.

"You're not helping," Solomon pointed out as he reached for another book to check. Michel responded cheerily:

"I know."

"So your intent is to annoy me?"

"Possibly."

"Then you are succeeding admirably. Congratulations," Solomon said as he reached for a book at the far side of the table. Michel snatched it up first and flipped through it idly. Stopping mid-way through and paging back until he stopped on something of interest.

"Didn't Ray say there were three tests?"

"Azura did, why?" Solomon tried to pluck the book away from Michel, but Michel turned away from him and kept reading.

"A test of the mind, a test of the heart, and a test of the body."

"Yes," Solomon tried to get the book again but Michel snapped it closed.

"Nothing useful here," he said with an infuriating grin. While Solomon sputtered, Michel reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a slim volume. He handed it to Solomon with great ceremony. "The Mystery of the Cairo Rose. Found this on the first table. Can we eat now?"

Solomon gripped the book and gritted his teeth before biting out a 'yes'.

XXXXX

Laila settled into a chair with a sigh and accepted the tea Florian offered. She was hot and her feet were tired from searching every stall on this side of the market looking for anything that might be a clue to the secret of the Cairo Rose.

Florian looked as tired as she did, and he was oddly quiet.

"Aren't you feeling well?" she asked after they'd been sitting for a while. Florian had gotten a plate of fruit and pastry with their tea and she helped herself to another honey-drenched treat, frowning when she realized Florian hadn't eaten any.

"I haven't been sleeping well," he confessed, not meeting her eyes. She knew what that meant: nightmares. Not that it was a surprise considering what he'd been through recently. As bad as it must have been for him as Renard's captive, it must have been much worse when he was Azura's.

"Ray misses him," Florian said, his voice so quiet she barely heard him.

"They were friends for a long time," was all Laila could offer in reply. It wasn't even close to a consolation and she knew it.

"I saw them kiss." It was a flat statement, made without any hint of emotion, but Florian's eyes were dark and full of anguish.

"Ray loves you," Laila whispered fiercely, after checking to make sure they wouldn't be overheard. These were not the kinds of things you could discuss in public.

"And he loves Azura," Florian whispered back flatly. He reached out and picked up his teacup, draining it and setting the empty cup down with a clink. "We'd better get back. Perhaps the others have had better luck." He didn't wait for her before he rose and walked away from the table.

XXXXX

"It's acceptable," Renard said, turning the necklace over to examine the jewel again. He'd intended to commission a local craftsman to make a copy of the Cairo Rose and had been presented with a tray full of them.

"Many people want their own Cairo Rose," the man told him. "Others use different kinds of stones, but I only use amethysts. Some people don't like it because mine are more expensive."

"I'm not other people," Renard told him. He paid for the necklace without blinking at the price and accepted the pouch the man offered for storage. He left the shop with the necklace in his pocket and took a meandering path back to his hotel. It was too late to test his new acquisition tonight.

Local legend said that the Rose was associated with a small tomb that had been uncovered just outside of Cairo a little more than a decade ago. Others had tried to solve the mystery without success, but there was enough of a match to the legend to make it worth the effort.

He was looking at the books in one of the stalls when a familiar blond walked past, moving too quickly in the midday heat. Ray's girl was trailing after him, struggling to catch up. So, he mused, Florian was in Cairo, which meant that Ray, and most likely Azura were in Cairo as well. This could be interesting.

XXXXX

"He's here!" Kensington said as he burst into Isaac's room. "I mean they're here." Isaac just gave him a look and waited. "Renard. I saw him in the market. And Florian. Well, and that Laila girl that works for Ray Courland."

"So they're all here. Excellent." Isaac smiled, looking very satisfied with himself. "I can finally be done with this."

"Done with what?" Kensington asked, taking off his jacket and dropping down onto a chair with a huff.

"Something that I've needed to do for a very long time," Isaac told him, making clear that it was all the information Kensington was going to get.

"Well... that's good," Kensington replied, hoping that it meant that they'd be going home soon and he'd finally get the rest of his money. Next time, he vowed, I'm sticking to children's theatre.

XXXXX

They left at dawn in three hired cars and arrived at the site just outside of the city well before most tourists were awake. There were still excavations underway, but this tomb had been uncovered years ago and served mostly as a curiosity. There was no pyramid structure over top, like the great buildings in the distance, just a partial roof that appeared to have been flat. Recently added steps led down into the open area outside the tomb itself and young locals provided torches and worked as guides for a few coins.

Azura took several torches and dumped a handful of coins into the hands of the nearest boy, telling him to share with the others and promising more if they remained outside.

The entrance was narrow and they had to enter single file, Ray following Azura, with Michel and Solomon close behind. Laila went next and Florian and Laurence entered last. The seven of them filled the outermost chamber, leaving barely enough room to look around at the decorated walls. Most of the color was gone, but there were a few splashes of faded orange or green and one prominent swath of red.

Azura spared the art only a cursory glance before moving on to the next room. There were a few large artifacts here, a broken statue of a cat and one of a headless person. There were a few wall decorations and bits of color here also, but nothing that seemed connected to the Cairo Rose.

The next two chambers were similar and they were all starting to sweat and breathe a little harder in the stale air. Laila, Florian and Laurence lagged behind the others, feeling too crowded with all seven of them in one tiny room.

"Look," Ray said from his place near the left wall in the fifth room. There was a damaged carving of a face; it was missing one eye and part of the mouth. He pressed on different parts of the wall, but nothing happened.

"Ray," Azura called from the sixth and last room in the tomb. It was the largest of the chambers, and an empty stone sarcophagus sat in the center, the top and contents missing. But that wasn't what made the room interesting.

"Hello, Ray," Isaac greeted, giving him a wide grin. "Surprised, aren't you?"

Ray looked at him and then at Kensington, who was cowering in the corner and trying to be invisible.

"What are you doing here?" Ray demanded, directing it at both of the men.

"Came to lend you a hand so you don't get your fool head chopped off," Isaac said cheerily. "He's just along to do the heavy lifting" Isaac poked at Kensington, making the man flinch. He turned to the man and waved him towards the door. "Go on, you can get out of here now. Wait for us outside."

Kensington fled, brushing past the others who were gathered in the doorway. Azura gestured to Laurence, and the man followed Kensington out.

"You were the one who sent him? Were you spying on me?" Ray demanded of Isaac. He still couldn't imagine why the cranky old man who'd given Azura and him such trouble when they were kids would be waiting for them in an ancient tomb in Cairo.

"Watching, not spying. And I sent him to lure you back to Morocco. But isn't it typical of the two of you," Isaac pointed at Ray and then Azura, "to complicate things!"

"Sorry for the inconvenience," Ray muttered feeling like he was ten years old and being scolded for not washing his hands before eating.

"You should be. Now be quiet and listen. The two of you are up to your tricks again and I've got to make sure you don't make a mess of things. You're not tricking vendors out of oranges, or stealing shiny trinkets from pampered nobles. This could get you killed."

"You know about the Cairo Rose?" Michel asked. He and Solomon had moved into the room leaving Laila and Florian in the doorway.

"Yes, and he does too," Isaac said, pointing at Florian. He strode over to the man and poked him in the chest, right on the still-sore tattoo. Florian winced and stepped back.

"I remember you. You're another troublemaker. You've got yourself in the middle of a real mess this time." He studied Florian, frowning with intense concentration. "Might be up to it." he muttered to himself before asking Florian, "You think you can do this? Face the three challenges?"

"I... I don't know," Florian looked at Ray as he answered. It still hurt to see Ray and Azura so close.

"Got to let that go if you're going to win, boy." Isaac scolded, but his eyes were sympathetic. Florian nodded, slowly and didn't look at Ray.

"Right. Let's get this over with." Isaac pushed past Ray and Azura and prodded the wall in random places before moving to the opposite wall and repeating the process. Once he'd visited all four walls, he went to the sarcophagus and pressed three different places on the carved sides. A deep rumble filled the room and the bottom of the sarcophagus slid back to reveal a set of steep, narrow stairs.

"You," Isaac said, pointing to Florian. "And you. You," he pointed at Ray and Azura, then hesitated and considered the remaining three before pointing to Solomon. "You. You two," he pointed to Laila and Michel," wait here and don't let anyone follow us." He moved in close to Laila and Michel and looked them each on the eyes. "If the wrong sort gets down there, we'll all be dead. Don't let it happen." Laila and Michel nodded rapidly.

"Yes, sir," Michel added for good measure. Isaac just snorted at him and turned away. He marched up to the sarcophagus and stood beside it. After a few seconds he looked around impatiently. "Well, one of you help me over. I'm an old man you know."

Looking ceilingward for a second, Ray moved forward and offered Isaac a hand. When the man was safely on the first step he reached over and smacked Ray's arm. "I saw that." He snatched Ray's torch and started down the steps leaving the others to follow.

XXXXX

The ceiling was low and the air was thick. They moved single file, holding their torches up as high as they could, surprised by the featureless walls. There were no carvings or paint in this chamber, only a door at the far side with a depression in the middle.

"Go ahead," Isaac said to Azura, who was next in line behind him. They all watched as Azura placed his hand in the depression and pushed. And pushed. With a frustrated sniff, he let go.

"You then," Isaac pointed to Ray, who repeated Azura's actions with the exact same results. "Now you." It was Florian's turn but before he made contact with the door, Isaac caught his hand. "Hand on your heart," he instructed, waiting for Florian to place his left hand on his heart, over the tattoo before releasing Florian's right hand.

Florian stepped up to the door, placed his free hand in the depression and pushed. A surge of energy ran between him and the door and made him gasp, but the door groaned and slid open.

"Go in alone," Isaac told Florian, handing him a torch. He moved to block the door, cutting off Ray's protest. "He's the only one who can do this."

The first thing Florian noticed was the air; it was cooler and didn't seem quite as stale. There was only one feature in the room and he walked up to it without hesitation. In the center of the left wall was a stylized cloud with lightning bolts emerging from all sides. The cloud itself had random sets of small bumps, scattered across it. Florian looked uncertainly back at Isaac and saw that the man had his back turned and was preventing the others from entering the room.

Florian wondered if this was the first or second test as he tentatively ran his hands over the cloud carving. There didn't seem to be any pattern, but he knew it wasn't as random as it appeared. There was a reason for the dots so he concentrated on them. The wall was grimy and he wished he had a dust cloth, then shook his head at his own foolishness; a little dirt was the least of his concerns.

Right. Concentrate. He could do this.

A flash of inspiration was followed by irritation at himself; Isaac had given him the clue and he'd ignored it. He placed his left hand over the tattoo and ran his right hand over the cloud. There! He felt a slight tingle when he touched one set of dots. And another. Another. He moved his hand across the whole cloud, trying to memorize the sensitive dots. He accidentally brushed one of the lightning bolts and felt a different kind of energy - more like a static electricity zap. He finished the entire bas-relief, finding thirteen sensitive spots and a corresponding number of lightning zaps.

So it was a puzzle - matching dots and thunderbolts? He tried touching a sensitive dot and then the nearest thunderbolt - and felt nothing. He tried again, touching the same dot and then a different bolt until he reached the one on the opposite side of the cloud from the dot. When he touched that one, he felt a little hum. Pleased with his success, he tried another set of dots and the bolt on the opposite side. Another hum.

It went quickly after that, although he misremembered one set of dots and had to start over, but finally he was rewarded with a room-shaking shudder and the wall opposite the cloud slid back in a cloud of dust.

He looked over at the others, his eyes searching for Ray and falling on Isaac first. The older man looked worried.

"Is something wrong?" Florian asked, taking a step towards them.

"Stop!" Isaac shouted. "Don't move. Once the tests start you can't go back or you'll trigger one of the traps. You have to go through alone from here. We can't follow until the tests are complete. Now go, there's a time limit."

Florian could hear Ray yelling at Isaac, demanding to know why he hadn't told them any of this before they were in too deep to stop it, but Florian didn't wait to hear the answer; he already knew it. If Ray had known, he never would have let Florian risk himself like this. Florian didn't know why this was so important, especially to Isaac, but he knew Ray would have given up whatever the secret was rather than put Florian at risk. Florian couldn't allow him to make that kind of sacrifice."

"Mind, body, heart," he spoke into the silence. "The first was mind. Next is body." He hesitated on the threshold and then stepped boldly into the next chamber. The wall slid closed behind him, making him flinch.

Unlike the last chamber where there was only one decoration, this chamber was full of them. Figures lined the walls at chest height in an unbroken line. Here the paint was vivid and gave each person bright clothing and accessories as well as different eye and hair color. Florian walked to the closest wall, put a hand over his heart and touched one of the figures. The zap was stronger this time, uncomfortable bordering on painful. He went to a corner, and counted thirteen responses per wall. The zaps increased in strength as he went on.

"Timed," he muttered to himself, shaking his right hand after a painful jolt. The last test used opposites, it was likely that this would too. Taking a deep breath, he touched the left most figure on one wall and raced to touch the rightmost figure on the opposite wall before racing to the right side of the adjacent wall and across the left. At last, a hum! Twelve more to go and he was sweating profusely and gasping for breath. His whole body was tingling from being zapped, and the fingers of his right hand felt singed. The room began to tremble.

"Damn it!" He increased his pace pushing himself as quickly as he could through the pattern of left-right-right-left until he reached the center of the wall and the directions reversed. He was almost done when he stumbled and lost focus, hitting the wrong figure and getting a jolt so strong he had to bite back a scream. He reached for the right figure and got nothing. Debris started falling from the room's ceiling as he raced back to the start and began again. By the time he made it through, his entire body was throbbing with pain and he was gasping for every breath. He staggered to the newly-opened passageway and dropped to his knees on the floor of the next chamber.

The room was cloudy with dust and he started to cough between gasps, his body wracked with the effort of getting enough air to his lungs. The torch barely cut through the gloom, and there was a funny, metallic smell.

"Florian?" His head snapped up, eyes searching.

"Ray?"

"Florian, run!" Florian was on his feet in an instant, moving forward as if compelled. He heard footsteps behind him. Lots of footsteps. Something small whistled past his head.

His heart was pounding, along with his head and his body felt like he'd been pummeled. Another projectile went past, tearing his shirt sleeve.

"Florian!" Ray's voice sounded wrong but Florian didn't have the breath to spare to call him, so he ran a little faster, trying to find him. A projectile hit his leg and tore flesh. Florian could feel a sharp spot of pain and blood trickling down his leg and wondered if the whatever-it-was was stuck there.

He stumbled and fell, his hands landing on cold flesh. He stared, not registering what he was seeing at first, and then rolling away frantically as he recognized Laila. Or what was left of her. He retched, but didn't manage to bring anything up before he was on his feet again and running. Ray called again, but his voice was fainter, as if he was farther away.

"Please," Florian was gasping as he ran. "Ray, please. Be alive." He stumbled into Solomon this time, his body suspended, his dead eyes open and his mouth frozen in a scream.

"Be alive." The plea set the tempo for his feet and he pushed himself harder, faster. "Be alive."

Another projectile found him, piercing his back, and Florian stumbled forward, vision going black for a moment before slowly returning. Florian didn't stop running. His ear was grazed, and then his hip. The small dart-like objects sliced clothing as easily as skin. One stuck in his side. Tears blurred his vision.

"Be alive."

Ray was suspended, hands bound over his head and his feet just off the ground. A faceless creature stood before him with a wickedly curved knife poised to strike. Eyes full of tears, and body beyond pain, Florian hurtled himself between Ray and his assailant, wrapping his arms tightly around his lover. There was a split-second when he looked into Ray's eyes and just enough time for their lips to meet before the knife came down, plunging into Florian's back and piercing his heart.

XXXXX

The room stopped trembling just before they heard the scream.

"Damn it!" Isaac shouted, grabbing Ray's wrist and pulling him forward. He propelled him through the doorway and shoved him for good measure. "Get in there while he's still alive!"

Ray didn't wait to he told twice, he set off at a run, making it through the first room and pushing at the wall that had opened for Florian. A few impatient pushes and it opened. The door to the next room was open, and a thick smoke was rapidly clearing. Ray coughed as he stumbled through it, finally seeing the body on the floor. Ray threw himself down beside his lover.

Florian was face down, unconscious, with more than a dozen tiny wooden darts sticking out of his body and a thin trail of blood trickling from his nose and mouth. He was barely breathing.

"Florian, hey," Ray turned him over gently and lifted him up to rest his head in Ray's lap. Florian's hands were burned as was the portion of his shirt over the tattoo. "Wake up." He gently patted Florian's face. No response. "Florian?" Ray shook him gently, and patted him again, feeling his chest tighten with anxiety as each effort produced no result. Finally, desperate, he leaned in and kissed Florian deeply. At last, Florian stirred.

"You would want a fairy tale ending." Ray said, watching with relief as Florian's eyes opened and immediately closed again.

"Oh," Florian gasped, waiting a minute before trying again. This time his eyes were open long enough to see who was holding him. With a sharp intake of breath, he wrapped his arms around Ray and pulled him down into a hungry and desperate kiss.

When Florian let go, tears were flowing down his face. "I thought you were dead. I saw you..." he trailed off raggedly, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. "Ray. Ray." He said the name with every exhalation.

"You're fine. Relax," Ray coaxed, running his hand up and down Florian's chest to try and calm him down. It almost worked, but then Florian gasped and tried to sit up without warning.

"The others!"

"Are fine, Florian. They're fine."

"No, I saw them. Laila. Solomon, They were dead."

"It was the test, Florian. It made you see things. It's over now."

"No, no. They were dead. Mutilated. Laila..."

"Shh. Shh, they're alive, They're fine. I promise." He let Florian cling to him, although he wondered how he could with his hands so badly burned. He'd let Florian do anything if it would help calm him down.

"Ray?" It was Azura, and the sound of his voice had sent Florian into another fit of desperate, gasping breaths.

"He's fine," Ray called, hoping the others would give them some space. "He just needs time to recover."

Either Azura got the message or Isaac was keeping him away. The same couldn't be said for Laila and Solomon. They knelt on either side of him, intent on seeing Florian's condition for themselves. Florian gripped Ray harder and the gasping became more pronounced.

"Alive," Florian managed to say, letting go of Ray long enough to touch Laila's hand, and then Solomon's. Laila let him do that before grasping his wrist and taking a better look as Florian's burns. She reached into Solomon's pocket and took out the handkerchief he always carried, knotting it around Florian's right wrist and the back of his fingers to provide a little protection to the burned palm. The fingers and his left hand would have to wait.

Solomon had reached into his pants pocket and extracted a flask, offering it to Ray who accepted with a nod of thanks. He held it to Florian's lips and poured a little into his mouth, lifting him up into a sitting position so he wouldn't choke. Florian sputtered for a moment or two but when he stopped, the gasping had stopped too. He leaned weakly against Ray's shoulder and accepted another small sip from the flask before closing his eyes.

"Come on," Ray urged Florian after a few minutes of rest and an impatient gesture from Isaac. With Solomon's help, Ray got Florian on his feet.

"We've still got a time limit," Isaac reminded them.

"Then we'd better get moving," a voice said from the doorway. They all turned in time to see Perrin Renard walk into the room, an arrogant smile on his lips and a pistol in his hand.

"What happened to-"

"Your pathetic watchdogs? Unconscious and most probably bruised, even if it is just their egos. They barely put up a fight." Renard walked up to Florian and put a hand under his jaw. "I suppose I owe you thanks. Or perhaps you owe me. I did supply that tattoo; who could have guessed it would be so useful?"

He stepped away, laughing at Ray's outrage, and waved the gun at Isaac before taking casual aim and shooting Azura in the leg. The man staggered back with a curse.

"Sit down," Renard told him, and gave Azura a push, laughing when he went down. He watched but didn't object when Laila and Solomon went to Azura's aid.

"I have five more bullets and a limited supply of patience. Where is the treasure?"

"We don't have it yet," Ray spit out, holding Florian protectively. He was ready to launch into a tirade when Isaac interrupted him.

"We're running out of time, Ray. Save it for later. Do you have your mother's topazes? Both of them?"

"I do. And the Rose."

"Give them to me, quickly." Isaac waited impatiently while Ray wrestled the jewels out of his pocket one-handed. Taking a small knife from his belt, Isaac quickly removed the topazes from their settings, ignoring Ray's objections.

"Fix them later," he said as he turned to Florian. "It'll be best if you do this."

Florian nodded, squeezing Ray's hand before stepping out of his embrace to take the stones. The Cairo Rose's amethyst was treated the same way, the empty settings handed back to Ray for safekeeping.

There was a single carving of a featureless person on the wall. Without prompting Florian rested his hand over his tattoo ignoring the burn and used his other hand to touch the head, the chest and then the area where the heart would be. Nothing happened.

"Why-?" he started to ask at the same time as Ray said, "the heart. The ancient Egyptians believed that thought came from the heart."

Florian nodded and repeated the process touching the heart area, the middle of the chest and then the heart again. This time there was a loud hum along with the rumbling and a segment of the floor opened, revealing a set of steps leading down into darkness.

"Florian first. You help him, Ray, Wouldn't want him to fall," Renard commanded, gesturing with the gun. "Then you old man, and the great detective. You," he pointed the gun at Laila, "stay here with our wounded friend. If you try anything, I will shoot every one of my companions straight through the heart, starting with your beloved Ray."

Laila just nodded grimly and remained in her place beside Azura. They watched as the men descended out of sight.

XXXXX

"Interesting, Renard commented as he stared at the sculpture that had them all spellbound. It was a grotesque thing with large, hollow eyes high on the wall, well above a huge mouth with many tongues emerging from it at all angles.

"That looks..." Florian said, unable to finish the thought.

"The Cairo Rose." Ray said it for all of them, noting that Florian put a hand to his tattoo and looked very unhappy.

"Quickly!" Isaac reminded them. "Topaz for the eyes," Isaac pointed towards recesses and waited while Florian placed them. "Now the Rose. There has to be somewhere, Some kind of slot."

"Look on the opposite wall," Florian suggested, too tired to do anything but watch while they searched.

"Here," Ray said, pointing to a small opening in the proper size and shape. Florian limped over and pressed the amethyst into the spot, flinching when there was yet more rumbling and a small section of wall slid away to reveal a niche containing a small wooden chest.

"That's it?" Renard demanded, pushing past all of them to grab the item. He had just reached into the niche when Solomon slammed into him from behind and held him there, trapped, while Ray wrestled the gun away from him.

Renard was snarling and spitting curses at them, but Ray thumped him on the back of the head with the handle of the pistol and he went limp. They put him face down on the other side of the room and Florian sat on his back.

While they had been distracted with Renard, Isaac had opened the chest and closed it again. He held it tightly against his chest and seemed pleased.

"We have what we came for; time to leave. Don't forget the jewels."

What about Renard?" Florian asked when Ray helped him up.

"Drag him up to one of the outer chambers and leave him there for the police, Tell them he tried to rob us." Isaac said, checking his watch. "This whole set of rooms is going to reset in about ten minutes and we're going to be stuck here if we don't move!"

They made it with two and a half minutes to spare.

XXXXX

"Now can we see the treasure?" Michel asked again, the hint of a whine in his voice. He had a headache and a nasty bruise from where Renard had struck him.

Laurence had been sent to find salve for Florian's burns and Kensington had volunteered to go with him, while the rest gathered in Azura's suite.

Isaac had set the wooden chest on the table and was guarding it until everyone was settled. One they were, and he had their attention he felt the need for a reminder.

"According to legend, the treasure of the Cairo Rose is a universal communication tool - some thought it was a device, some thought it was a common language. In reality, the secret of the Cairo Rose is..." With a dramatic flourish he threw back the lid on the chest and extracted...

"A teapot?" Michel asked, looking around at the others to confirm that he wasn't hallucinating. They were all stunned speechless.

"A teapot," Isaac confirmed. He reached into the chest again and extracted a scrap of parchment. He held it up so they could see that there was perfectly recognizable writing on it, not mysterious foreign symbols.

"Congratulations," Isaac read, seeming to take great pleasure in his audience's stunned silence.

"You are brave, wise, strong and loving enough to have passed the tests of the Cairo Rose. And now you are learning, as we have learned, that you are not the first. When we discovered the chest it contained only a handful of ashes. We thought you would appreciate something more, so we are leaving you our second-best teapot and this note. We are also leaving you with this thought: that perhaps the true secret of the Rose, the real key to universal communication is the skill you have employed to find it: bravery, wisdom, strength, and especially love.

Yours truly,

Matilda and Adelaide, Cairo, 1889

"There's a P.S.," Isaac added, his grin growing as he read, "Unless this is all a bunch of codswallop, in which case you should save the teapot for later and get yourself a drink! And it's signed, Tilly."

The room exploded with almost everyone talking over each other, resulting in a riot of sound. Only Florian was silent. While the others prattled on, he got up, stalked over to the bar and claimed an almost full bottle of Chambord. He opened it, held the bottle aloft and said, "To Tilly." Before taking a swig.

Ray swore, and rescued the bottle before Florian drank too much. Setting it on the table, he escorted Florian back to their room, waving off offers of help. Once they were alone in their room, he striped Florian down and got him into bed. It was only then that he realized Florian was crying.

XXXXX

"Isaac wants to see you," Solomon whispered when Ray opened the door to his light knock nearly an hour later. "Is Florian asleep?"

"He is, but he's been having nightmares."

"I'll stay with him, Solomon offered. "Go. Everyone's calmed down, and you deserve some answers."

Ray hesitated another minute before accepting the offer. He found Isaac in Azura's room. The men were seated at the table, the chest out of sight somewhere, and the bottle of Chambord between them.

"You want some answers," Isaac said before Ray had even taken a seat.

"I'm waiting." Ray was out of patience. It had taken him a long time to calm Florian down, and even now it wasn't clear how much of a toll those tests had taken on his lover.

"You'll get your answers, but you some background first. In the last hours before the tower of Babel was destroyed and the universal language fragmented, a handful of people managed to escape. There had been a prediction that the end of was coming, so a few hasty copies of a language primer were made and each family took one and fled in different directions. Most of the families didn't make it, or they did but the scrolls were lost and their history forgotten."

"Of the remaining families, one made their home in Arabia. Time passed and they expanded into a large and prosperous clan. The scroll was a sacred artifact known only to the clan leader and his chief advisor."

"Many years later, there as unrest in the clan and the leader feared for the safety of the scroll, so he made a journey to Egypt with only his advisor for a companion. When they returned, the scroll was no longer in their possession, but in its place was a magnificent carved amethyst."

More time passed, and the knowledge of the scroll faded, along with the importance of the amethyst. In a time of famine, the clan leader traded the amethyst for food for his people. The memory of the scrolls had completely vanished from the clan."

"But the clan leader's ally had not forgotten. He had founded a secret sect that was charged with not only protecting the scroll, but also with remembering the importance of it."

"They had been the ones responsible for the secret rooms and the traps. However, one among them became convinced that the scroll was a work of evil and unknown to others of the sect, he went into the false tomb and burned the scroll, leaving only the ashes that Matilda and Adelaide found."

"So the scroll is gone?" Ray asked, his mind reeling from the new information, and the knowledge that Florian had been put at risk for nothing.

"It is."

"And you didn't see fit to tell me this? You couldn't have spared us? Spared Florian from this little adventure?"

"No, Ray, I couldn't. Because the Cairo Rose had been lost, and sold and copied so many times that I couldn't know if it was real."

"What does it matter?" Ray demanded. "There's no scroll, so the Rose is just a useless piece of jewelry."

"Just because the scroll is gone doesn't make the Rose useless. It has a very particular use, and that is to verify the loyalty of the holder to the leader of the clan." Isaac was looking at Ray very intently, as if trying to convey more than what his words were saying.

"What does that have to do with me...?" Ray looked at Isaac, and then at Azura. "It was my father's clan?"

"Yes, and you are the rightful heir no matter who pretends otherwise."

"I never had any intention of claiming my heritage. I'm no clan leader." He frowned when Azura snorted.

"What do you call that band of misfits of yours?"

"It's not the same thing," Ray insisted. "And besides, it doesn't matter whether I'm rightful heir, or whether the Cairo Rose points to an old teapot. I don't need an old tomb and a series of deadly traps to trust Florian's loyalty."

"Perhaps not," Isaac agreed, not at all repentant. "But you needed to know the truth, and you needed the illusion of a mystery to appreciate what you learned. If I had presented you with an empty box and told you that it once contained one of the greatest treasures in the world, would you have believed me?" Before Ray could answer, Isaac answered for him, "No."

"And if I had told you would be a good clan leader, and you could trust your Florian with your life, would you have believed me?" Isaac answered again, "Maybe, but I couldn't take that chance. Not once Renard got involved and dragged this one in too." He pointed at Azura.

"I had to know for certain; one last task to complete before my duty was fulfilled." Isaac leaned back and sighed. "So much trouble you two caused. Wasn't sure I'd live this long with the way you ran me ragged trying to watch out for the two of you."

"You knew my father?" Ray demanded, suddenly understanding, "But how? Why? If you were in Morocco you could have helped us."

"I was away when you and your mother arrived; out looking for you. When your father was killed and the clan taken over, no one was able to get word out for weeks, and by then no one knew if you and your mother were even still alive."

"By the time I got the message, no one had seen you for a long time and most people believed you were dead. But your mother sold her topaz brooch for food and transport to Morocco and one of our people found it. We traced you to Morocco and I was sent to help. By the time I found you, your mother was dead and Azura had taken you in. So I watched out for the two of you and tried to keep you safe. When your aunt and uncle came to take you back to Paris, it seemed like the safest option."

"So why did you come for me now? Why didn't you come to Paris and tell me this yourself?" Ray wanted to know. He was feeling overwhelmed and frustrated by the influx of new information. For so long he had had almost no knowledge of his family, only a few fading memories and now he had so much that he hadn't had time to sort it out.

"I wanted you to come back to Morocco. I was going to ask you to undergo the test, and to accept the mark of your people."

"I thought the tattoo Florian has is the mark of the secret sect, not the mark of my clan."

"Only the clan leader and his chief advisor have the tattoo because they are part of the sect."

Ray shook his head, frowning. "What happens now?" I have no intention of claiming my place as clan leader so there's no reason for the sect to continue; no reason to continue the charade with the false tomb and the tests."

"I suppose you're right," Isaac said, and didn't sound sad about it.

"What happens now," Azura broke into the silence, "is you keep the Rose and the topazes, and you take Florian and the others home. You are welcome to stop in Morocco on the way. You have my word that I will not touch anyone in your group."

The desire to see Fez was overwhelming. It had been so long since Ray had visited, and the last time had been a nightmare. He longed for the chance to visit the market again, and to smell the familiar smells.

"I will let Florian make the decision," he told them, trying not to sound hopeful. He looked at his old friend, and the old man who had been much more of a guardian than he'd ever imagined. Taking up the Chambord bottle that Florian had drunk from earlier, Ray opened it and took a swallow. It burned pleasantly on the way down and he savored it.

With a nod, he stood and left the room, taking the bottle with him.

XXXXX

Laila and Michel were hovering in front of his door and he motioned for them to follow him in. He could hear Solomon and Florian talking through the door, so he knew Florian wasn't asleep.

He gave them a shortened version of Isaac's tale, and answered their questions as best as he could before the topic finally shifted to their plans for returning home.

Before he could suggestion it, Florian said, "Morocco isn't that far. Perhaps we should accompany Isaac and the others and stay for a while. I understand Laurence is thinking of joining Kensington's theatre troupe."

The others shared uneasy looks, but Ray reached out and took Florian's hand, squeezing it and getting a squeeze in return.

"You have Azura's word that he won't do anything to make you uncomfortable." Ray said quietly while the others talked around them.

"I doubt that," Florian teased lightly, but with a hint of resignation under it. "He delights in making me uncomfortable, but I believe he won't... do more. He had his chance before you arrived and he didn't..."

"You don't have to do this for me," Ray told him, interlacing their fingers.

"I'm not. Not entirely," Florian clarified. "I'd like to see your Morocco, Ray, not have nightmares about mine."

"That can be arranged," Ray promised, taking Florian's chin in his hand, While the others laughed and talked, Ray pressed his lips to Florian's, waiting for the trust and acceptance that always came when Florian opened to him, and let Ray inside.

XXXXX

Epilogue

"You're up early," Ray teased, finding Florian sitting in the courtyard. It was sunrise and the sky was full of color.

"Someone dragged me off to bed much too early last night," Florian teased right back, his eyes bright at the memory. It had been their first night in Ray's home in Casablanca and already Florian was in love with the place.

"I had to welcome you home properly." Ray sat down beside Florian and put his arm around him, drawing the slender body close. They'd spent a week in Fez and, although it had been tense at first, they'd both managed to enjoy themselves. Ray had taken Florian to some of his childhood haunts. On their last night in the city, Isaac had taken them to dinner.

"It's peaceful here," Florian said, gazing up at the rising sun. "It's unfortunate Michel had to leave, but at least he has Laila for company." She'd been reluctant to go, but Ray had finally convinced her when he hired Solomon to act as Florian's bodyguard until they returned to Paris. Florian hadn't been happy, but he'd agreed to Ray's request.

Now they were alone for a few precious minutes. Somewhere in the house Solomon was sleeping, and elsewhere the servants were preparing breakfast and tending to their daily routines. In the pretty courtyard with its tiled fountain and softly rustling plants, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

Florian stood and held out his hand to Ray. Without words they stepped into each other's embrace, their bodies moving to the memory of similar dances that they'd shared over the years. There was no fumbling for where to place arms or how to move feet; it was something they just knew.

Just like Ray knew he was content to leave his place as clan leader to a man that had won the clan back from the usurper, and man that Isaac assured him was wise and fair.

Just like Florian was able to overcome some of his fear of the city of Fez and what had happened to him there.

Just like the two of them had been able to leave Renard with the police in Cairo, pity rather than anger in their hearts.

Ray released one of Florian's hands and placed his gently over the Cairo Rose tattoo. It had healed at last, along with Florian's other injuries, leaving a permanent reminder of recent events, and of Ray's past. It he could, Ray would erase it, but instead, he had to learn to accept it. Just as Florian had. Someday, perhaps it would be more than acceptance, it would be a symbol of their union; one strengthened by the matching tattoo healing on Ray's chest.

End


End file.
